AC Brotherhood Novelization
by Mirror and Image
Summary: Desmond continues his journey to being an Assassin and slowly going insane while reliving his ancestor Ezio as Ezio's worlds crumbles under his feet. Rated for Desmond's language, overall violence, and of course a certain amorous encounter at the beginning of the game.
1. Battle of Monteriggioni

**Assassin's Creed Brotherhood Novelization**

Mirror and Image

_I don't think anyone ever expects to wake up one morning and find themselves caught in the middle of a war between two secret organizations. I know _I_ didn't. But here I am._

_ On one side are the Templars, better known these days as Abstergo Industries. They're in the business of control. Politics, economics, technology, they won't stop until every single one of us serves them. Literally. Fighting against them are the Assassins, a group dedicated to safeguarding humanity's free will. I was born into the Brotherhood._

_ A couple of weeks ago the Templars found me. They took me prisoner, strapped me into a machine they'd built and put me to work. It's called __an__ Animus; and it's where I spent most of my time, exploring memories of my ancestors, discovering entire lives locked deep inside my DNA. First I revisited the life of Altair ibn-La'Ahad, an Assassin from the Crusades. The Templars wanted the location of something known as a Piece of Eden, an ancient artifact capable of bending people to their will. Once the Templars had what they were looking for, they decided my usefulness had come to an end. But Lucy saved me._

_ Lucy..._

_ When things were at their worst, she revealed herself to be an Assassin and helped me escape._

_ I was hoping that would be the end of my misadventures. But we were just getting started. Back into another Animus I went. Now I'm reliving the memories of Ezio Auditore da Firenze, my ancestor from the Renaissance, searching for a path forward. Through the Bleeding Effect, I'm becoming an Assassin in more than just name._

_ It will come in handy, as the Templars prepare to enslave us all._

_ They've found us; they've crashed our hideout and we're fleeing the scene, looking for a place to hide. Only, there isn't any, and time is running short._

_ My name is Desmond Miles, and this is my story._

* * *

_Requiescat in pace, you bast_ard cannon firing everywhere concussive roun_ds_ _God, it is God that dwells with_in! - dirt was flying people were flying, horses were flying death was everywh_ere_ _Nulla è reale; tutto è lec_ito smoke and blood and sweat and earth and chickens and ash and fire and brimstone hell on earth abandoned by the go_ds_ _No. Not gods. We simply came... bef_ore the earth shook as another barraged impacted the horse was dead and the armies were amassing fire was to the left a field that bur_ned the world burned and naught remained but a_sh and that bastard's men were going to surround him and he would be damned if that man would win ag_ain we endeavored to ensure this tragedy would not be repeated. But now we are dying. And time will work agai_nst us he saw him across the smoke and blew through the bodies, leaping up and stabbing and gutting and killing everything that stood in his way.

Eyes locked as he ran full tilt at the bastard and he watched eyes grow wide in surprise.

A hand grabbed his wrist to prevent the lethal strike and they fought for footing and he growled out, "How did you find me?"

The question was stupid and he answered with "Mario Auditore led me here."

_ You must find the other temples. Built by those who knew to turn away from war. They worked to protect us - to save us from the fire. If you can find them... If their work can be saved... so too might this world._

They struggled for dominance, pushing, straining, muscles sore and tight and determined his blade inching closer and closer and closer un_til Who is Desmond? I don't understand! Please, wait! I have so many questions! - a_nd he was riding through the hills overlooking the battlefield knowing his prey was there and...

* * *

"Uh, Rebecca? What's going on?"

_"I have to run some diagnostics. I'll get back to you."_

* * *

"It is done. The message is delivered," she said softly. "We are gone from this world. All of us. We can do no more. The rest is up to you, Desmond."

"What?" Ezio blinked, spurred to action by such a specific name for a spirit. "Who is Desmond? I don't understand!"

But Minerva was fading.

"Please, wait!" he said, walking forward, reaching up to catch her hand, her shoulder, anything. "I have so many questions!" What was it all for? Why had his family been sacrificed for this enigmatic message to the mysterious specter of Desmond?

But the room was in darkness once more.

And Ezio Auditore da Firenze was alone.

He took a deep breath, unsure how he felt, _what_ he should even feel. He had just met with a god...! He wondered if he should feel touched, or blessed, or anything the Bible often spoke of in its verses. And Minerva, one of the old gods, not the True God. What did that mean? Was the Bible a lie? Ezio remembered Altair's Codex, his writings of the old gods and the worry that the new God of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam were too simplified, too convenient. Would the old Master feel vindicated to learn his thoughts were true? How would the people handle such knowledge?

No, the Assassin shook his head. These questions were too deep for him. What of the prophecy, that some great calamity was approaching, and the spirit of Desmond had to stop it? The End of Days told in the Bible... it had happened once before. Perhaps Noah's flood? Minerva had claimed that few remained to rebuild... was there something he should _do_ about any of this? Some Prophet he was! Everyone acknowledged him by the title and all he had done was anchor some phantom to relay a message. But then, was that not all that prophets did? Ezio didn't like that, he was a man of action, he would much prefer to _do_ something about the encroaching calamity – but what? And how? And _when_? There had been no specifics at all and...!

He blinked, finding himself out of the glowing hallway of the Vault, and back in the circular pit where he had fought Borgia. A glance showed that the old Pope had disappeared. How long had he been communing with the goddess?

No matter, seeing the strip of clothe imbuing Borgia's title discarded on the floor, Ezio walked over to it and could not hold down a smirk.

Minerva's words were ethereal, otherworldly, even ominous, but in _this_ at least he felt satisfaction. Borgia was defeated now, and to add insult to injury the delusional old man had watched his most hated enemy enter into the Vault that was thought to be his. Let Borgia live with that bitterness, let Pope Alexander VI spend the rest of his days knowing that everything he fought for had been for naught. Ezio doubted the old fox would live many more years, and though he felt a pang that the man would not suffer the twenty-three years that he had, he thought that a decade or so would more than suffice.

Yes, he had more questions, but as Ezio examined the fabric, he decided that this mission had been a success in every sense of the word.

He was free.

He was free of the quest of revenge, he was free of the burden of the deaths of his family, and he was free to live as he wanted now.

And it felt... _good_.

Standing, Ezio looked to the center of the pit, where the Papal Staff still stood erect.

A Piece of Eden should not stay in Borgia's hands – defeated or not, Ezio would not let the old man have a hint of temptation. He walked over, his boots heavy on the floor, and wrapped his fist around the Staff.

It would not budge.

Frowning, he placed his other hand around the object, pulling with more purpose. Still nothing.

_And now to wait_, whispered softly in his mind, and there was a soft burst of light, startling Ezio to take a step back, and he watched the Piece of Eden sink into the ground, mesmerized, before thought restarted and he reached out to grab at it again.

_Done with you need to wait next event time to sleep_.

He let go, surprised, and watched its continued descent. Time to sleep? What did that mean?

"Better in the hands of the earth than the hands of man," a gruff voice said from above, and Ezio looked up, startled.

"_Zio_?" he asked, surprised to see his uncle in the Vault.

Mario offered a bright grin. "What can I say?" he said affably. "I was late, it seems. I'm not as young as I used to be." Ezio scoffed, but the jovial tone left his uncle's voice. "Quickly. Climb up, we need to get out of here."

Ezio nodded, quick to find hand holds and dart up the circular recess he was standing in.

"You would not _believe_ the things I have seen, _Zio_," he said once he was out. How could he even _start_ to explain what his uncle had missed? The fight, the staff, the Vault, Minerva...! Wonder began to fill him again, words ready to burst forth from his lips, but Mario held up a hand, cutting him off before he even started.

"Then be sure to stay alive, that I might hear of them," he said pragmatically, already moving down the narrow hallway.

Right. They still needed to escape Rome. Even with Bartolomeo engaging forces and Volpe securing an exit, they still needed to get out of the Vatican. Ezio took a breath and put his wonder aside, focusing on the more immediate needs. "I expect opposition," he said with his rich baritone. "Word of my infiltration must be spreading by now."

"Ha," Mario said, reaching the steps, "and _I_ expect the Borgia to mourn the loss of many lives tonight."

The two of them entered back into the Cappella Sistina and its unpainted ceiling, the cardinals long since disappeared and replaced with lower level monks and priests, milling about and wondering what was happening. Many looked up in surprise to see the two Assassins appear, whispers spinning back and forth, rumors and low voices filling the cavernous space of the _cappella_.

"What are you doing here?" one of them asked, nervously eying their swords.

A different one had more courage, or perhaps more contempt. "_Assassini_," he spat, "God will see you pay for your crimes."

A third spouted similar outrage. "You have desecrated the sanctity of this holy place!"

Sanctity? If they only knew...!

Ezio shook his head, pitying the men. "You condemn what you do not understand," he said simply. This was not the place for theological discussion, and these were _certainly_ not the people.

Mario did not even grace the men with a response, turning to his nephew. "We must go, _Nipote_, now." And like an old ox he barreled his way through the throngs of men, heedless of their protestations and rebuttals. Ezio followed the path he made, also ignoring the curses spat at them.

"They do the Devil's work!"

"Turn away from them!"

"Heathens!"

Several turned their backs to them, as if not seeing them made them nonexistent, but some were braver and tried to block their path. Mario had no patience for them, simply shoving them aside, but Ezio understood that they were ignorant, ignorant of so much that they must be pitied, and it was not in him to cause them harm. Several interpreted his more careful maneuvering as weakness, and tried to push him around, literally.

One managed to press against his stab wound, and Ezio grunted at the sudden reminder of the trials he had suffered over the course of the day, and with a growl he put his pity aside and kicked the man in his balls in retaliation, a hand going to his wounded side as he finally freed himself of the crowd. The two exited the _cappella_.

"Did Rodrigo manage to hurt you?" Mario asked quickly, his strides long and powerful even as he gave a cursory glance as Ezio's side. Embarrassed, and remembering the many times he had worried his uncle with his reckless injuries over the years, he pulled his hand away and walked normally. The pain had already faded.

A look showed that Mario would not take such showboating.

"Barely," Ezio admitted, flushing, and was quick to write it off. "But my armor blunted his attack. Altair was a true master at his craft, the blow should have killed me, he _meant_ for it to kill me, and yet already the bleeding has stopped, and I suffer no severe pain from it."

Mario looked at him.

"... So long as it is not aggravated," Ezio clarified, coughing against his embarrassment and putting more speed in his steps.

They exited the grandiose _cappella_ and were soon in the main courtyard of the church. Cardinals were milling about, but not the ones from before, Borgia must have shuffled them off somewhere to deal with them, the ones here paid them no mind, and Mario and Ezio skirted the edge of the immaculate courtyard, neither wishing to draw attention to themselves.

"Be ready to fight," Mario said softly, opening a door and leading Ezio down a narrow hall, dimly lit. "I saw guards massing when I was sneaking in here."

"How did you even _get_ in, Uncle?" Ezio asked, fist wrapping around his sword.

"I still have a few tricks to teach you, _Nipote_," he answered with a grin.

Silence settled over them, Mario gripping the handle of the door that lead outside to the Vatican proper.

Beyond were a slew of guards, and as one their heads all turned to see the two Assassins.

_Merda_.

Their swords were drawn instantly, Ezio with his precious sword inherited from the great Altair himself, a simple blade with an eagle head pommel and winged hilt that would not break for anything, was as invincible as his light-as-leather armor. One guard's sword snapped under his attack, and Ezio easily broke the guard's arm before sweeping his legs out from under him with his beloved sword. Mario, even at sixty-five, was as spry as Ezio and infinitely more experienced; he took down younger, stronger, vigorous men in two or three moves, so economic were his movements and decisions. Ezio envied that as he pulled into a more drawn out duel with a more skilled captain. Focusing his attention, Ezio taunted and parried, lulling the captain into a false sense of security before exploding in action, pressing a furious attack that left the man defenseless. Ezio stepped forward and stabbed, his sword expelling from the other side of the guard, and the Assassin felt a pull at his own stab wound.

He winced, yanking the sword out and putting his hand against the injury again.

A shove occurred behind him, and he stumbled over his fresh kill before spinning around.

The guard who had startled him was already falling, blood spurting from his neck from a sword wound, and behind him was a grinning Mario.

"I told you," he said brightly, flinging his sword behind him to kill a guard trying to sneak up on him, "I've still a few tricks to teach you."

Ezio offered a grin. "Whatever you say, 'Mentor.' Not bad for an old man."

"Agreed," Mario said without a hint of humility. The two reengaged the fight, slaughtering the guards with ease and leaving easily two dozen men at their feet.

Mario was off like an arrow, not even pausing to see if more guards were coming, and Ezio was fumbling to keep up. Mario darted up some steps and down a narrow alley – now that they were in the Vatican proper, the city inside the city of Rome, there were many more choices for them, and it wasn't long before Mario was leading them up a pile of crates to a series of crossbeams and finally to a roof. "I've secured a way out of here," the older man said. "The roofs are normally teaming with guards but I've made a few select kills and we have a path to follow. Stay close."

"Yes, _Zio_," Ezio said softly.

He found himself dimly wishing he had worked with his uncle more. Mario, for as long as Ezio had known him, was flitting from one city to the next, almost never home in Monteriggioni as he traveled all over Italia doing the brotherhood's work. For all the training, the words of advice, the practical wisdom, Ezio had only ever worked with his uncle during the campaign for San Gimignano, the infiltration to get to Vieri de' Pazzi, when Ezio was still young and pigheaded and impatient. He had recognized his uncle's genius at strategy, but only now was he beginning to realize how far it extended – to secure an escape rout in the _Vatican_ with only a few select kills?

It was not the first time Ezio realized how much he still had to learn – even at forty years of age.

They took a quick, sometimes circuitous route along the roofs, hopping over alleys and darting over tiles and looping around chimneys. Mario led them up to a viewing platform, and they plunged into the deeper shadows of the covered road leading to it. Two, no three guards were walking about. Mario silently killed one while Ezio extended both of his hidden blades and forced them into the soft tissues of the exposed necks of the other two. All three fell to the ground at once, and Mario was off again, the Auditore crest emblazoned on the back of his cloak visible briefly as they ran down a narrow street that was not in shadow. Several sharp turns later they were up at the roofline again, and Ezio could see the river splitting the Vatican from the rest of the city.

They climbed a church tower, Ezio could see a beam sticking out at the top from old construction, and he already knew what Mario was intending to do. He looked over his shoulder and saw that yes, they were the perfect distance to do a leap.

After a moment's pause, both collected their breath from the climb and the exertion of the day. The sun was low in the sky – a testament to how long they had been working.

"What of the Apple, Ezio?" Mario asked. "Did it sink into the earth as well?"

"No," he replied, pulling out the Apple. "But I have seen why Altair feared its power so; and I have seen the potential that it has." Even now, he could hear whispers in his mind, its desire to help. It glowed in his hand, golden light shifting and swirling, words in his mind of things he could do, things he would see, knowledge he would gain if he only _asked._

Ezio was frozen, looking out over the river, knowing the Apple needed to be hidden away or destroyed, but the promises were so _alluring_, and he turned troubled eyes to Mario.

"This decision is yours alone to make," Mario said. As always, he never told Ezio what to do, let his nephew make his own decisions. "Only do so quickly."

Ezio stepped out to the edge of the tower, his motions suddenly wooden, hard to do. Even Altair, who had studied the Apple for so long, had washed his hands of the accursed thing, Ezio could do no less, and yet... and yet... and_ yet..._

Mario seemed to sense the struggle. He turned back to the Vatican, still weary of guards and pressed for time. "Then give it to me," he said gruffly. "It does not seem to like me; you can do as you will later. For now we have to leave."

… Yes. Yes.

Yes, that made perfect sense; Ezio was in no condition to make a decision that monumental in his state, injured, tired and worn, and on the run from Borgia pursuers. He could decide at home, at Monteriggioni. "_Bene,_" he said, handing the little silver ball to his uncle. Its light immediately dimmed, the whispers died away, and the Florentine felt infinitely better.

And they dove.

* * *

Though neither met Volpe in their flight, his work was evident in the fact that horses had been waiting for them in the southern outskirts of the city and no one, _no one_, paid them mind as they traveled about. Rumors amongst the other travelers spread that thieves and bandits were about and to mind their belongings, the guards had their hands full. Ezio and his uncle shared a grin before nodding at all the right places.

Contrary to the dire predictions of Savonarola and his ilk, the world did not end at the turn of the New Year, something Mario had said was inevitable: the world was hardly going to stop spinning because of a date on a calendar, and even if it did, why a year like 1500? Halfway through an eon? Ludicrous. The pair rode up to Monteriggioni around midday, the sun high in the sky and Ezio _still_ regaling Mario of the miracles he had seen below the Vatican in the Vault. All of his theological questions poured out of his mouth, recounting Altair's Codex and studies of the Apple, Minerva and her cryptic words, the invisible phantom Desm_ond Christ almighty I'm not going to get used to him saying my na_me and the new dire prediction of the end of the world.

"She told of a disaster that occurred long ago and another that is coming," Ezio said, energy filling him again. What was he supposed to do? How could he prevent it? What did it have to do with that ethereal phantom? What did this mean for Christianity? Had the madman Savonarola been right about the end of the world, only confused on its date? No, he had the Apple to further his agenda, Savonarola did not believe his own rhetoric. But then what-

"Sometime far in future, right?" Mario said, cutting through his knot of thoughts. "The disaster will not occur immediately. If this being claiming to be Minerva was alive for thousands of years, then 'distant' is likely measured in centuries. Do you not think so?"

"... _Si_," Ezio said slowly, uncertain where his uncle was leading with this.

Mario smiled. "Then we need not worry about it," he said simply.

… And just like that, all of Ezio's worries and questions and confusion were swept aside with his uncle's pragmatism. "_Sì_," Ezio said slowly, his eyes wide in revelation. "Perhaps our work _is_ finished."

"Would that be so bad?"

"... No," Ezio said, smiling. "No, it sounds _wonderful_."

But before he could truly begin to understand what it meant to be finished, the earth next to him erupted in a cascade of dirt, both horses startled and reared, leaving the two Auditore hard pressed to settle them. "What on earth...?"

But Mario laughed good-naturedly. "I told you before we left, _Nipote_. We upgraded the arsenal while you were away."

"...Ah." He did have a vague memory of Claudia updating them on their new purchases. He turned back to his uncle, Florentine irony lacing his next words. "And it is now customary for you to fire cannonballs at visitors?"

"My apologies," Mario replied, his face only mildly penitent. "They should have only installed them a few days ago. My men are still being trained in their use, it seems."

"Yes, it 'seems,' indeed," Ezio said, pursing his lips at his uncle's laughter.

They cleared the line of fire without further explosions, however, and they stabled their horses and entered the city. The people immediately recognized Ezio and his uncle, the patrons of Monteriggioni.

They welcomed him with open arms.

"Welcome back _Messer _Ezio!"

"Ezio! Look it's Ezio! Let me see! Mama, let me see!"

"The _Maestro_ is back! Look! _Ser_ Ezio! Hello!"

The good will swept over Ezio and he smiled broadly, raising his hand high above his head. "_Buon Giorno!_" he called out. Several girls cried out, giggling or fanning themselves, as several of the mercenaries off duty catcalled and whooped upon their return. Children ran up and wished a happy new year, shop owners huddled around their doors to get a better look, courtesans ooh-ed and ah-ed, and he saw several thieves watching the growing entourage from the roofs. He couldn't help but smile. "It is good to be home," he said, content. "This place just keeps getting better."

"It's thanks to you, _Nipote_," Mario said expansively, waving himself. "You provided the finances to rebuild this place, and we couldn't have asked for a more shrewd accountant than Claudia. Between the two of you, Monteriggioni has flourished. They know. And so they celebrate."

They reached the fountain at the end of the main street, the embellished Assassin symbol resplendent and pouring water freely for the citizens. Ezio and Mario dismounted, walking leisurely up the steps. The training ring was empty, Ulderico likely off with Claudia and their daughter somewhere. The villa practically shone in the noon sun, the facade bright and clean, the gardening lush and colorful. It was Heaven on earth, not even the brilliance of Florence could compare to this tiny little city-state that Ezio called home. He was just so... _happy_. He couldn't stop smiling.

His family was at the main doors. Claudia turned and her face veritably lit up.

"Brother!" she said brightly, darting up to him.

"Claudia," he replied, stepping up and throwing his arms around her. She squeezed, and he returned the embraced just as strong. "It is good to be home. How is Mother?"

"She's fine," she said, eager to answer his question. "She's inside with Federica. Oh, I heard you were returning, but I am glad to see it with my own eyes. I was afraid to hope you'd be back by tomorrow; this is wonderful. The _Contessa_ of Forlì is here to welcome you. _La Tigre_ herself, I had no idea you were so famous!"

"Caterina?" Ezio said surprised. "Here?" Tigress indeed, Caterina Sforza was the regent of Forli, a spitfire and fiery leader of her people who trained the troops herself. Just last year, while Ezio had been dealing with Savonarola and his terror over Florence, Caterina had dug in and prevented the Venetians from marching through her lands to make war with the city of Ezio's birth – with no allies save a few pitiful mercenaries sent by her uncle in Milan. Caterina was a strong ally of the Assassins, had hidden the Apple in her city for a time, and even went so far as to have her first husband killed. Ezio knew her in the most intimate sense, and the thought of the beautiful redhead in his heaven of a home... his smile threatened to split his face.

Claudia smiled, too, so happy to see her brother. "Is it finished, then?" she asked, anticipation coloring her face and voice. "Is the Spaniard truly dead?"

That would... take some explaining. "Gather the others in Mario's study tonight," he said by way of deflection, "I'll explain everything there. There is so much to tell."

"Steel yourself, Ezio," Mario said, knowing just how much the others would have to swallow. "They will have many questions."

"Claudia, tell the _Contessa_ I look forward to seeing her this evening. An ally who has helped as much as she deserves to know just as much as the other Assassins. Are Paola and the others still here?"

"Yes, somewhere. Volpe hasn't appeared yet, and neither has Bartolomeo, but Paola is likely at the bordello, instructing as she always does. Antonio has been racing the thieves, so I'm sure Teodora is with him, and Machiavelli is in the gardens out back."

"_Bene_," he said. "I'll gather Paola and Antonio, we'll dine together and then I'll tell a story such that no one has ever heard before."

"Of course," she said. "It will give Ulderico and I time to get Federica to bed. Oh, it's so good to see you!" She hugged him again, tightly, before darting back into the house, Mario laughing and following her in.

Ezio smiled after them, contentment washing over him, and he turned and wandered back into the city. There were many people he needed to catch up with.

His first stop was the blacksmith, the brothers Marco and Carlo. Brought in by Ezio himself they had apprenticed under Santino, who had finally retired, and become masters themselves. Though the armor of Altair and his sword had left Ezio in no need for their finest works, he made a point to call on them regularly for maintenance of his hidden blade and other weapons, to say nothing of their artistry with plates and flatware. They were thrilled to see him, lauding him with stories of their children and their business and their adventures in smithing. Ezio reveled in their stories, smiling and laughing and refusing once again to give them his precious armor and melt down for examination.

After them was a quick stop of to the waif of a banker Romeo, handpicked replacement by Adler. He was young and not yet married, nervous of disposition and thin of frame. Ezio went over their finances briefly, knowing Claudia would give him a more detailed report later before Romeo talked of the German Adler in his retirement. Old and sour, both men had fond memories of the banker and his absolute loyalty to the Auditore banks and his bitter words of the idiocy of Florence. They both laughed out loud, remembering his attitude towards customers and his keen eye for financial details.

Vincenzo, former apprentice of his best friend Leonardo da Vinci, was knee deep in a painting and didn't have time for him. Doriano and his sister Arianna were thrilled to see him. Well, Arianna was, Doriano still couldn't understand why Ezio favored such long coattails, Arianna took one look at him and burst in inspiration (something that happened with her often.) She was already working on a new piece for him, all whites and reds, she said, more up to date with current fashion but still so winningly _him_. "It should be done tomorrow or the day after," she said brightly. "I can't wait to see you in it!"

Ezio smiled, leaving the shop feeling utterly fulfilled and saying hello to the priest before making his way to the bordello.

Would the rest of his life feel this good? Now that the burden of his work was no longer on his shoulders, there was a spring in his step, a sense of relaxation. He had freedom now, all the freedom to do whatever he wanted. Would he join Vincenzo and Leonardo as a painter? Perhaps buy up a vineyard. Maybe writing, as Altair had done?

The possibilities were endless, and he wondered if he could take a year or two to make a decision; "take his time" now that he had it. Yes... that sounded wonderful.

True to Claudia's prediction, he found Paola giving a firm dressing down to the _madonna_ in charge. Sixty-one and with failing eyesight, her arched eyebrows and mysterious eyes commanded the room before turning to Ezio and softening. Paola had been Ezio's first teacher, fresh from the slaughter of his family and angry at the world, she had taken a bitter and vengeful boy and given him to the tools to survive and the shelter he needed for what was left of his family. "_Buon Giorno,_ Ezio," she said softly, her entire demeanor changing.

"_Madonna_," he said, reaching out and taking her hand, sweeping it into a gentlemanly kiss. Several of the girls in the brothel cooed. "It is good to see you well and doing what you do best."

A coy smile. "You don't know me well at all if you think _this_ is what I do best."

"Ah, but I wouldn't dream of seeing you at your best," Ezio said smoothly, "I wouldn't want to spoil you forever from the potential of men."

"Well played, _Signore_, I see you've... grown... into the parts you play."

"All with your tender care."

"Excellent," she said, nodding in approval. "Come, let us sit."

They shared tea as the other courtesans waited on them, Paola instructing them with a nod or a gesture, before Ezio explained the meeting he would be holding that evening.

"Such news means you have accomplished your endeavors."

"And then some," he said with an ironic smile. "It took Uncle the entire ride back to completely wrap his mind around the things I saw, I can only hope I can do better tonight."

"If there's one thing about you Ezio, it's that you do better with each time you do something."

After that Ezio took to the roofs, hopping and leaping and darting over to the Thieves' Guild that had been set up a dozen odd years ago for hiding thieves of Venice. Antonio, now fifty-six, was the aristocratic thief of Venice that had taken Ezio under his wing for eight years, beating subtlety and pre-planning and advanced thought into his otherwise thick head. It was a hard eight years, for many reasons, but Antonio had been a level head and a good measure of his progress towards becoming an Assassin. Several thieves recognized Ezio as he entered and smirked more than a little as they pointed him to the master Thief's quarters.

Ezio knew what that meant, and had the decency to knock. Teodora, nun of the most unorthodox nature stationed in Venice; she had charged her bordello with using their bodies to convert men to a softer understanding of the Lord. She had helped Ezio through the painful rejection of his childhood love, Cristina, and she was known, more than once, to bed Antonio.

He gave them several minutes to get appropriately dressed (though he had learned the hard way that 'appropriate' was relative to those two) and walked in. Antonio, was still shrugging on is doublet, but at least his pants were on, and Teodora was fully dressed. They were happy to see him, worried over his journey, and glad to hear of the meeting later that night.

"We'll be there, brother," Antonio said earnestly.

"And will you keep your hands to yourselves?"

"Oh, on that I make no guarantees."

"I will," Teodora promised with a small smirk, completely ignoring her lover's flabbergasted look. "And you, my son? You've a look a peace about you. Have you at last found a corner of solace that you had thought lost?"

"No, _Madonna_," Ezio said with a sad smile. "With Cristina gone, I doubt I will ever find such a corner."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, Ezio," she said softly. "You'll find her one day, of this I am certain."

Ezio smiled, a little broken, thinking of Florence and Cristina and the blood.

No... there would be no one after her.

But... he didn't need it. He had Monteriggioni, its people, his Uncle, his family, he had the Brotherhood. What more did one need?

It was late afternoon now, and he still had people to visit. His first stop was to the battlements, to have an extended conversation with the mercenaries and their propensity to firing on friendlies. He found a trio of them muttering and cursing about the new cannon. Some were trying to maneuver the machine, and others were saying that wasn't the problem. Ezio crossed his arms and put on the sternest face he could manage.

"So, these are the new cannons?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes, _Signor_ Ezio," one of them said, still pouring over the machine. "Though how anyone can think these are practical are beyond me..."

"We were trying to fire them earlier, could not aim for anything. Almost hit two..."

All three suddenly stood ramrod straight and stared at Ezio. "_Mi dispiace_!" one of them shouted. "_Merda_, we're in for it now!"

"I tried to tell them it was a bad idea..."

"_Stronzo,_ don't try to talk your way out of this!"

"We cannot seem to make them work properly, and the fool who mounted them is nowhere to be found!"

"Yes, that much is true. A thousand apologies, _Messere_, please!"

And their frantic apologies and declamations of blame could only make Ezio smile. He shook his head, snorting. "Then it is up to me to find him," he said in his rich baritone.

They continued to fawn. "We do not want to waste your time..."

"It is not any trouble," Ezio replied, smiling, "I have all the time in the world now."

No one was completely sure where the "fool who mounted them" was, but Ezio followed his intractable instincts and found him, passed out drunk, in one of the northern battlements. He nudged the mercenary with his foot.

"_Salve, Messere_. We need you to fix the cannons on the battlements."

The engineer snorted, casting bleary eyes up at the shadow looming over him, and turned away. "Leave me be. I do not begin repairs before noon."

"... Do you know what time it is?"

"I make cannons, not clocks."

Oh, one of _those_. Ezio made a show of shrugging his shoulders, passing it off as a trifle. "If you are busy, someone else will fix them."

_That_ got the man's attention immediately. "One moment," he grunted. "No one else will touch _my_ cannons."

Ezio grinned. "Then by all means, lead the way."

The engineer got to his feet and began to walk back to the cannons, muttering and rubbing the drunken sleep from his eyes. "Soldiers have no respect for artillery. They expect a gun to work like magic. You need to feel her out, give her a little encouragement." He looked to Ezio, hoping to find a kindred spirit, and the Assassin nodded simply. "We are only equipped with simple cannons now, but I got hold of a design from Francia: a hand cannon, something called a Wrought Iron Murderer. Imagine, firing a cannon... from your hands. That is the future!"

Ezio glanced down at the firearm on his wrist, attached to the hidden blade and constructed by Leonardo, the blessing that allowed him to assassinate the _Doge_ Barbarigo of Venice. The future indeed, and Ezio was pleased that he was even slightly ahead of the game. Leonardo always served him well, and was ashamed that he could not see his friend more often.

But the engineer cut through Ezio's thoughts.

"What have you done?"

"We used them," one of the mercenaries said.

"They were not ready for firing!" he shouted, grabbing the man's collar. "You could have gotten us all killed! You didn't hit anybody did you, _stronzo_? Let me see."

Everyone watched as the engineer spent easily half an hour puttering around the cannon, cursing the mercenaries creatively as he reached under to adjust some metal gear, or boldly peered into the cannon's mouth with a light to check something. He finally deemed it safe and moved on to the others, muttering and cursing all the way. Ezio turned to the mercenaries. "I must go."

"Thanks for your help. If you hear the cannons tomorrow, do not worry, we will be practicing at dawn."

Ezio nodded, reentering the city as the sun began to set. Boxes of flowers had been delivered near the main gate, and a woman was tugging and pulling at one of the boxes with great frustration.

"The men in this town are no better than little girls," she muttered. "An army should be helping me, and look... no one." Her grip on the crate slipped and she flew backwards, landing hard on her backside. "_Cazzo_," she cursed. "This box is heavy. I always get stuck with these kinds of things..."

And, even after all these years, Ezio could not ignore a pretty face. "Need some help?" he asked smoothly.

The woman looked up, surprised to find an offer of help, and then took in Ezio's face. "_Salve_," she said in a low, pleased voice. Stepping back, Ezio swept down and lifted the crate. The flowers were heavier than he initially expected, but were nothing compared to some of the armor he wore, and to prove the point took up a second crate for effect. "Where would you like them?" he asked lightly, pleased to see her flush of admiration.

"Follow me, _Messere_," she said, beckoning him down towards the church.

"So many flowers," Ezio said conversationally. "Your husband must be very lucky."

She laughed, deep and throaty. "I am the lucky one. I have you here to aid me."

"I see," he said, giving a roguish smile.

Her eyes doubled in size as she caught his polite leer. "Oh," she said quickly, "I may have given you the wrong impression."

"Oh?"

"I have no husband," she said quickly, "He died some three years ago. The flowers are for a party."

Ah. "Am I invited?" he asked, still grinning. He loved flirting with women.

She, too, seemed to enjoy flirting, because she offered a coy smile and shy look. "To Claudia Auditore's birthday party in the Villa? If you are willing to help me again, I need someone with class to accompany me."

Oh, now that was a wide opening. "What makes you think I have class?" he asked.

She smiled. "I could tell the moment I saw you. No one in this town walks with such bearing. I am certain Ezio Auditore himself would be impressed."

"Oh? What do you know of Ezio?"

Her smile was more wistful now. "I have never met him, alas," she said. "But I have heard many a story from his sister Claudia. She helped me settle here, you know, when my husband died. She found lodgings, materials, even a job for me; I could not ask for a kinder benefactor. Her brother, she says, is even kinder. Claudia thinks the world of him, but he rarely visits her. From what I gather, he's distant."

Ezio blinked, thinking back over the years. He had always considered himself so close with her, especially when their mother was stricken with grief over their family's losses. Why, he had even threaten to kill Ulderico when he learned that Claudia was preg-

Oh.

"She's right," he said with no small measure of self-reproach. "I have been."

Federica had changed everything when she was born. Ezio, a newly minted assassin, had learned for the first time what family could mean for a man like himself. He had fallen in love with Federica just like a parent, had doted on her and showered her with affection, and had been reprimanded by Ulderico, jealous that he was losing his only daughter to a man he had no hope of outmatching. Out of respect, Ezio had pulled away, making a point to give them time with their daughter. Maria had scolded him on it, saying it was hurting Claudia. Had he been so blind?

Yes.

The distance... it would have to end. He would talk to her, tomorrow, at the party, and beg forgiveness.

"Oh no," the woman was saying in the meantime. "_You_? The party was intended to be a surprise, _Ser_ Ezio! Promise you will not tell Claudia."

"I will not say a thing," he said, "Provided, you perhaps do something to earn my silence."

He watched her eyes dilate at the very thought before shaking it off. "I'm sure I'll think of something," she said shakily, putting her hands to her cheeks to hide her blush.

A woman of propriety even when struck by desire? Ezio liked her even more, and was glad for Claudia's choice. The two made several more trips with the flower crates, and it was evening when they at last finished. They parted on good terms, Ezio would forever be able to make women comfortable with him, and Ezio entered his villa.

"_Zio_ 'zio!"

"Federica!"

The eleven year old bundle of energy flew up to him and Ezio swept her into a tight hug, spinning around once before dropping her down. "You've gotten so heavy," he declaimed. "I feel like an old man."

"You _are_ an old man."

"Ah, you wound me with your cruel words."

"There's a really pretty woman here, _Zio_ 'zio," Federica said brightly. "She wears clothes like I've never seen before. Why don't _I_ have clothes like that?"

"Because your uncle is pragmatic with his wealth," a deep, luscious voice said from the stairs, and Ezio and Federica looked up to see the _Contessa_ herself coming down the steps, dressed in rich purples, a delicate lace collar, and fine-woven sleeves. Ezio's mind was quickly filled with pleasant memories of Caterina Sforza, her strong spirit, and her _very_ soft curves. He smiled brightly. "_Buongiorno_, Ezio."

"Caterina," he said lightly, Federica attached to his hip. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence here?"

The countess glanced down at Federica, winking and smiling at her, before looking him in the eye with a serious face. "I desire an allegiance. The papal armies have resumed their march on Forli. Your mercenaries would be a great asset to my cause."

"Your own forces are fierce," Ezio said slowly, sensing the seriousness. "Can they not handle the force?"

Caterina looked away. "My second husband seems to have absolved my people of their faith in me. Four years ago, I was blind to what that man was capable of, even when my own children tried to assassinate him, and in my anger, I did terrible things. I had asked my people if they wanted to capitulate to that _stronzo_ Pope, or dig in for a siege and they... hesitated. Before the assassination attempt... this would not have happened, but I have to live with the consequences, and because of that I cannot force my people to do as I will if they cannot trust me. I absolved them of their fealty, and so my numbers are greatly reduced."

"Do not worry, Caterina," Ezio said, squeezing his niece's shoulder, "Your people will come around to see what a magnificent woman you are. It is likely that I can give you what you seek. But we will talk later, I have a niece to put to bed."

"_Zio 'zio!_"

An hour later, the dinner table was full of people, laughter, and smiles. Wine warmed everyone in the January chill, and the food was rich and plentiful. Antonio's hands were visible at all times, but not his feet, it seemed, if Teodora's flush was any indication. Paola spoke softly with Maria, and Claudia and Ulderico regaled everyone with stories of their daughter. Mario laughed louder than anyone, slapping the table in his pleasure while Machiavelli, dour as always, ate silently. When the food had finished, the Florentine diplomat leveled a serious gaze at Ezio.

"Well?"

Everyone quieted, and Ezio leaned back, hoping to explain the things he saw. He began with the easiest.

"It is done," he said. "Though not, I think, as any of us expected." He explained the infiltration of the Vatican, Rodrigo Borgia and the Papal staff, Altair's armor saving his life; he explained the combining of the Staff and Apple, the access to the Vault. He tried to express with wonder the moving painting of Minerva, doing poor justice indeed he was certain, and relayed the prophecy of tragedy she had spoken of, the hope of the lost temples – whatever they were – and of the phantom Desmond. "It was as if he were there, standing beside me. I was utterly alone, and yet she spoke to air as if a person existed there. After her warning, she vanished."

"Amazing," Caterina said softly.

"I cannot imagine such wonders," Claudia agreed.

Machiavelli was more pragmatic. "The Vault did not house the terrible weapon we feared. This is good news."

"What of this goddess, this Minerva?" Claudia asked, "Did she appear human?"

"Yes, but her words proved otherwise. All of her kind died many years ago. I wish I could show you the magic she performed."

Antonio asked, "Who is Desmond and where are these temples Minerva spoke of?"

"I do not know."

"Perhaps we must search for him," Teodora wondered.

Machiavelli, however, focused on a different point. "Tell me how it ended with Borgia. Did Rodrigo beg forgiveness? Make excuses? Promise power in return?"

"... No. None of those things."

The diplomat frowned, surprised. "Interesting. I'm surprised he remained so composed."

Ezio shrugged. "I let him live."

Machiavelli's eyes snapped to the Florentine. "The Spaniard lives?!" he shouted, incredulous.

"He is defeated," Ezio said. "He will live in the shame of his total defeat for the rest of his days."

"Fool!" Machiavelli growled, stepping up into Ezio's personal space. "_You_ were defeated, too, and you spent twenty years plotting revenge, do you think _he_ will not do the same? And yet you speak of moving paintings and dire prophecies. Once our enemies are dead we can speak of vaults and gods and ancient places. You should have _killed_ him. We're sure to suffer for it."

Ezio pursed his lips, knowing all too well of what Machiavelli spoke of, but he had made his decision. "I am not here to debate the past. Together, we should discuss the future."

"No," Machiavelli said. "I am leaving immediately for Rome. _Someone_ needs to control the damage you have wrought."

And with that he stormed out of the villa.

The others watched uncomfortably, Maria pale at the thought of danger and Antonio gazing with disapproval – at whom was anyone's guess.

Mario cleared his through. "Ezio," he said, "I do not know why you spared him, but I trust your judgment. Machiavelli will come around."

"It was a good decision," Paola said softly. "Lives must be spared whenever they can. To kill wantonly robs us of our humanity, and that should never happen. If Rodrigo Borgia must be killed even after his defeat, he will make it known."

"Agreed," Teodora said, before standing. "It's a long road to Venezia, and Antonio and I must begin almost immediately. Thank you kindly for your hospitality and information. May your days be peaceful for the foreseeable future."

Similar statements were made, and it wasn't long before everyone was retiring to bed. It was late at night, almost midnight, and with no pressing conversations, explanations, or meetings to have, the weight of the journey began to pull at Ezio. It had been a hard ride, both ways, and his work in Roma had been excruciating, physically as well as emotionally and even spiritually. His loft seemed so far away, but he trudged his way up and found a hot bath drawn up. Claudia? Or Maria? It mattered little, the steam in the chill air was palpable, and Ezio was quick to tug his boots off and slowly disassemble his armor, throwing his black doublet and hood and cape into a pile while he carefully reassembled his armor on a mannequin. Hidden blade on the stand by the bed, and sword by that. His pants were next, and soon he put one grimy foot into the hot water and _aaaaah,_ he was in heaven.

He soaked in the water, fingering the stab wound he had received from Borgia. It had required only two stitches, done hurriedly by his uncle once they were clear of Rome, and now was healing well. His other aches and bruises seemed to melt in the hot water, and he leaned his head back, slowly becoming boneless.

He was very nearly asleep when he heard soft but untrained footsteps.

Caterina Sforza stood by the tub, her form in silhouette.

Ezio smiled, and that was all the prompting the Countess needed. She went through the process of undressing, slow and deliberate and sensual in every movement she ma_de holy shit Rebecca fast forward th_is; he enjoyed the show, still half asleep, before she coyly walked over to the side of the tub.

"Welcome home," she whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders and rubbing them just so. Ah, he felt that all the way down his back.

"So tight, _mio caro_," she said, her breath hot by his ear. "We'll have to fix that." And slowly, gently, she rubbed her palms and fingers over his shoulders and back, working her way lower and lower, and all Ezio could do is moan in pleasure as he relaxed even further. Her hands entered the water, moving lower and lower, before returning to his shoulders and then slowly tickling their way down his chest. Ezio looked up, only to have time to see a coy smile before his mouth was captured by hers, and one hand trailed below the water and stroke h_im Christ fast forward damn it!_

His mind immediately woke up to her ministrations, and soon a small foot entered the tub, and he found his arms full of those wonderfully soft curves of his memory.

His brain worked dimly, but enough for him to pull away briefly. "Didn't you get married again?"

"I told you before, _mio caro_, I bed who I want. And right now, I _definitely_ want _you_."

… There was no helping it after that. All his worries about taking married women, his old concerns about the hurt he had caused Cristina or the pain Claudia had suffered from Ducio, all of it melted away along with his tension and he just let it happen. If Caterina wanted this, who was he to deny her?

His desire was toyed with in the water, either by skilled hand or tactical hip, wet hands and wet breasts pressed against his chest even as his mouth was preoccupied with the Tigress of Forli. None of the strength inherent of the title was exhibited, it was all soft gasp and gentle hands and teasing strokes. Open mouthed kisses trailed down his neck, his collar bone, and wetly played with the planes of his chest before capturing his mouth again. One arm gripped the rim of the tub, bracing herself as she gent_ly goddamit Shaun this is you isn't it you perverted son of a bitc_h!

His body thrust instinctively, but she pulled back at the last moment. "Not the tub, _mio caro_, the metal will hurt later. Take me to bed."

"Your wish is my desire," he whispered.

She all but shoved him to the bed, still dripping wet before climbing atop him, grinding her hips onto his and rubbing her body up and down, triggering all sorts of sensations over his body. He reached up to stroke her back but she pushed him down again, not allowing him any chance to return the pleasure she was endowing him. "I seem to recall you are a _stallion_, yes?" she whispered into his ear. "Well, then, _mio caro,_ let me _ride_ you."

He could only grin in response, and she sat on his stomach, above the center of his pleasure, and rocked her hips back and forth, letting him feel the wetness build up in her and toying with other parts of his body with her skilled mouth. Any attempt to stroke or explore her was rebuked, he was meant to be utterly passive, it seemed, and soon it was impossible for him to do anything other than moan. Her skills were put to work and he became one burning cluster of _need_.

"Caterina, I feel I'm going to explode straight up into the air," he gasped, his body on fire with pleasure and desire and lust.

"Oh?" she said coyly. "We can't have that, now can we?" She rolled her hips again, and Ezio was blind with plea_sure Rebecca! Lucy! Make this bastard fast forward this you know how much I hate feeling this! Holy sh_it and he thrust over and over and _over,_ until at last his lust finally burst from him, deep inside her, and they both grunted with pleasure.

Ezio sank into the sheets, spent and euphoric and panting. Caterina lay atop him, eyes dilated and hazy, before curling into his side. "Tonight, _mio caro_, is going to be all about you," she said in a deep, husky voice, rough from their time together. And just like that she was touching him again, fingers and mouth and thigh, and working his desire back into his body for a second round and he was all too happy to begin it. H_e god damn it Shaun fast forward right now or I swear to God I'll desynch you sick bastard!_

* * *

"Shaun!"

"Oh, honestly, I'll bet it's the closest he'll ever get, the poor sod, let him have the moment."

"Except he doesn't _want_ it, Shaun! Have some respect."

"Sorry, Desmond, I thought we were being followed; I needed two sets of eyes on the road. Another minute and Rebecca will take over."

* * *

Caterina was determined to keep them going the entire night, and they did just that. No sooner did one round end that another started. Every time Ezio dozed when spent from their amour, he would wake to find Caterina kissing his thighs or suckling his ear lobes, and the lust would begin again. Not once was he the aggressor, every encounter left him prone and vulnerable to her whims, once even begging for her to get _on_ with it. He was not used to such passivity, but Caterina seemed to be an _excellent_ teacher, and after no less than six different encounters of passion he rather thought himself well versed.

Dawn came and the countess was still insatiable.

"Ready to go again?"

Ezio smirked. "You don't need to ask."

She smiled in response. "One should always have the freedom to choose," she said softly, her face inches from his own.

"Then I choose another round," he said, husky and full of lust.

They kissed, her skilled hands already working, when a distant explosion sounded. "What's that?" she asked, looking up.

"Probably just training exercises," Ezio said, hazily remembering the mercenaries and their newly installed cannons. He would have to check on them later. He pressed his palm to her stomach, below her naval, knowing it was a sensitive spot and getting her attention.

That was when the room exploded. The north window shattered into a thousand pieces and the room shook as something impacted the far wall. They both looked up, startled, to see a cannonball rolling around on the floor, before the ceiling joists, groaning from the sudden assault gave way, cracking and then collapsing over Ezio's paintings and work desk. The mannequin holding his armor was crushed under its weight, but neither Ezio nor Caterina paid it mind, both dashing out of bed for their clothes. Ezio hopped into his trousers, shrugging on his white cotton. Caterina had her white undergown on and was hastily lacing up her bodice when another shell burst into the room, crashing through the first hole and exiting through another window.

"_Merda_!" Ezio cursed. "I have to find Mario and rally the troops."

Caterina was already ahead of the game. "My men are in the courtyard. I aim to lead them around back and flank our attackers."

"No, you already said you are down in numbers, with the Borgia massing at your borders. We're clearly too busy to give you aide, you have to go back to Forli and rally the men you have. I'm sorry, _Contessa_."

She gave him a quick, hard kiss, looking at him with shining eyes, before nodding and running off.

Strapping his hidden blade and grabbing Altair's sword, he climbed out of the hole and onto the stone roof tiles, rolling as another volley went flying over his head. Rolling to his feet, he looked out over Monteriggioni, his home, his heaven, his port of sanctuary, and saw it under attack. The main street was on fire, smoke rose from nearly every battlement, and he could hear a cacophony of screaming under the sounds of cannon fire, and one of the towers of the city wall collapsed.

He was looking at hell, and he didn't even have time to process it as a cannon burst at his feet, making him lose his footing; he slid uncontrolled down the tilt of the roof and over the edge. Years of training kicked in, and he rolled in the air, and was able to reach out and grab the upper balcony. It crumbled under his grip but not before slowing his decent, letting him land on his feet with minimal harm.

A firm grip grabbed his arm and hoisted him to his feet. Mario was there, grey temples flaying about in the wind. "It's the Borgia!" he growled, blind eye wide in rage.

"How did we not see this?" Ezio demanded, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. How did this happen? _How did this happen_?

"They must have massed to the east during the night," Mario said, already on the move and Ezio quick to keep pace. "We need to hold them off until the townspeople have escaped."

"I will take care of it," Ezio volunteered.

"Use the cannons above the ramparts. I intend to lead a frontal assault. By _God_ we'll make those bastards pay for attacking us!"

"But Borgia is defeated," Ezio said, half thinking to himself. "What purpose would he-"

The Apple!

"Do you have it?" Ezio shouted as another cannon blast burst at their feet, digging earth up and exploding it everywhere.

Mario, like Caterina, was already ahead of him. "I am keeping it safe," he said, patting his belt before grabbing the reins of a panicked horse. "I'm off. The Borgia must not be allowed to breach the walls until everyone is safely away." He quickly calmed the beast and mounted, shouting orders before looking down at his nephew. "We stand together!" he said as parting, his horse rearing.

"Together," Ezio agreed. "Uncle... be careful."

"I will." And Mario simply grinned, digging his heels into his horse and galloping off to the barracks to marshal forces. Ezio had his own assignment, and found a horse under the training ring, now in ruins, and with a well-practiced leap he landed in the saddle and grabbed the reins. The horse gave only one buck before he had the animal under control and set off into the city.

The people were in panic, the smell of smoke and black powder everywhere. Frantic cries were shouted from every direction.

"My children. Where are my children?!"

"Papa, Where are we going?"

"My mother. I can't find my mother!"

"Help me! Help me!"

"Oh God. Where are you, Marcello?!"

"Run! Run!"

"Everyone!" he shouted as he darted through the streets. "Get to the villa! _Get to the villa_! You'll be safe there, get to the villa!"

No less than three buildings collapsed during his ride, frightening the horse and making it almost unmanageable. Fire had erupted at the bank, and the tailor shop was nothing more than a heap of rubble. He veered east, trying to get around the carnage, shouting at everyone to get to his home for protection, and saw that the church was only half standing, two walls ripped away as if they had never existed, pews littering the streets for his horse to jump over.

This was horror!

This... this was... there were no words!

Ezio growled, his voice hoarse from shouting, before he at last hit the city wall. Another building crumpled, and he could not steer the horse away this time, the beast crushed under the brick and wood; he himself only barely managed to leap out of the saddle, reaching up and finding a lamp post to grab onto and hoisting himself up. The smell of ruined meat assaulted his nostrils, combined with all the other scents he was suffering from and his eyes watered in disgust.

He climbed up to the roofs, the streets were no longer safe, and ran along the city wall, desperate to get to the battlements faster. He found a ladder and began a hasty ascent. What the hell were those new cannons _doing_? He could feel the vibrations of every impact of enemy fire through the wood, and half way up the entire wall buckled; the ladder disintegrated under his hands, and he fell back, seeing the enormous stones of the city wall falling above him. Ezio landed hard on his back and rolled closer to the city wall, pressed up against it as the giant boulders crashed about him, ripping the roof he was on to shreds as it barreled unhindered to the ground. Ezio panted, disbelieving, that he had survived. He looked around, confused, unable to fully process the fact that his home _was under attack_ by the damnable _Borgia_.

Growling, anger filled him as he looked up. The stone facade had crumpled away, but the inner structure of the city wall held – at least something was built to withstand this horror. He leapt up to the plethora of handholds, hoisting himself up a dozen feet and to the ramparts at last. Auditore mercenaries were everywhere, firing cannons, shouting orders, and then flying up into the air in bloody pieces as the artillery hit. Everything vibrated, either from impact or from their own fire; smoke made it almost impossible to see, white and grey and some terrible black of ammunition soaked in pitch. Ezio leapt over bodies and body parts, slipping in spatters of blood and bodily fluids and fighting his way through people manning the cannons, trying to slow down the onslaught that was exploding all around them.

"_Signor_ Auditore, thank God!" someone shouted.

"What's happening? How are our forces?"

"We lost almost half our cannon in the first volley; their engineers must be excellent, but they're focusing now on getting over us and into the city. We must hold them back until the villagers escape!"

Ezio took a deep breath. "_Bene_, if they're so focused on the city then we have a chance. Everyone!" he shouted. "Our first priority is taking out the enemy cannons! Everyone aims at artillery, ignore the troops; concentrate all fire on the cannons!"

"You heard him!"

"Adjust the heading!"

"Take out those cannons!"

Marching up and down the line as he could, he grabbed five mercenaries and ordered them to clean up the bodies – grim work to be sure but the paths had to be clear for travel.

"We've lost everything," someone moaned.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven," another was praying.

Ezio couldn't bring himself to think about it, if he did he was sure to fall apart. Too fast, this was all happening _too fast_.

"Aim carefully, we can't withstand another volley like that!"

"One of the siege towers is almost on us! What do we do?"

Ezio gave another order: "Every third cannon, if a siege towers clears the road, then fire – we can't have the enemy up on the battlements. Go! Fire! _Now_!"

"Fire! _Fire!_"

Ezio grabbed a mercenary. "Look out over the town," he shouted, "Tell me how many of the townspeople are left. We _have_ to make it until everyone gets to the villa."

For three hours Ezio made similar orders, walking up and down the ramparts, adjusting his orders as he needed, trying to get as many enemy cannons disabled to give the people time clear out. The engineer from the other day was running from one cannon to the next, fixing what he could and giving tips on how to aim. The Borgia forces eventually figured out why it was taking them so long to trounce the Auditore, and Ezio cold see when their aim changed.

"There, look! That's their powder supply. Aim for that!"

"Reload, _reaload_! Aaauh!"

"_Cristo_, we're all going to die!"

"They're destroying us!"

"He's _dead! Bastardi!_"

A cannon exploded just as Ezio walked by it, sending him and the team manning it ducking for cover. One died instantly, another rolled off the rampart to his death, and the third struggled to reload the cannon.

"I need a new team!" Ezio shouted.

"_Signor_, there aren't any left!"

"_Merda_, how are the townspeople?"

"Almost all the townspeople are outside the walls," the courier he had grabbed shouted, clutching a bloody arm. "Less than an hour!"

"Keep loading the cannons!"

"_Signor_, we don't have enough cannons left and- Soldiers! Soldiers are climbing the walls!"

Ezio growled, hoarse from giving orders. "Keep firing," he ordered, drawing his sword. "I'll keep them from interfering, you _have _to hold out!"

"We will. God save you, _Messere_!"

No sooner had Ezio turned that enemy artillery erupted behind him, destroying the men who had just prayed for him. He wrenched his eyes closed for just a moment before tearing down the ramparts. One of the towers was blocked by rubble, but Ezio would not stand for that and instead jumped up to one of the construction pulleys, kicking the lock even as he grabbed the rope. The bricks above him plummeted down, sending him flying up with enough momentum to get him onto the roof of the tower. The siege engine was unmolested, the entire ease side of the city wall had been ripped asunder, barely a dozen mercenaries were trying to block the flood of Borgia paid thugs.

"Show no mercy!"

"No one shall be spared! Take this town for the Borgia!"

Like _hell_.

Ezio leapt, his hidden blade extended and dove onto one of the men, cutting through the artery like butter and using the corpse to break his fall.

"The _assassino_ himself! Take him and you'll be rewarded!"

Ezio's response was to impale the first greedy pup with his sword, kicking the body off and spinning into a tight arc, his hidden blade slicing through knees and rendering men prone of the ground while his sword decimated throats and shoulders and heads. One man swung wide, and Ezio kneed him in the chest, sending him doubling over gasping for breath; Ezio grabbed the back of the man's head and fired the pistol built into his hidden blade, the noise barely heard over the cacophony of chaos surrounding them before shoving a shoulder into one shocked onlooker and then cutting him down with a sword, taking two steps forward and knocking a third to the ground before stabbing his sword into the gut, ducking under a fourth's swing and shoving his hidden blade brutally into the back, into the kidney; and a fifth was kicked in the knee to make the neck available with a clean slice.

He continued to mow his way down the city wall, slaughtering any who got in his way. Forty years old, and he was the deadliest man alive against these young inexperienced _whelps_ that _dared_ to think they could make any coin off of _his_ death. None had the experience or skill to even offer him a challenge, not after training with his uncle, or Ulderico, or Bartolomeo, or Antonio or Volpe or any of the other teachers he had had over the years. It was not long before some two dozen men lay dead or dying in his wake; even the fully armored, older, more experienced soldiers were not match for him. Ezio had fought armored men before, he knew every chink of armor, every weakness, every move they would make before even they did, and he had almost cleared the path when he heard an explosion even louder that any he had heard that morning.

He turned to see the main gate shatter inward, debris flying everywhere. He could just make out, through the smoke and haze, a man stumble into the city.

His uncle.

Ezio blinked. What was he doing back in the city? What of the frontal assault? Where were his lieutenants and... and... was that blood on his cloak?

Mario fell to his knees, and behind him another silhouette appeared, a young man, almost a boy, strode in in thick armor and an immaculate red cape. Others trailed behind, but Ezio only had eyes for his uncle.

Guards flooded around them, taking a defensive perimeter, and the boy spoke.

"I know you're there, Ezio," he shouted, confident and easy. "The Pope told me about you and your little group of Assassins..." Ezio leapt over the rampart, landing on a roof and plunging deeper into the city, hoping... he wasn't sure _what_ he was hoping only that he had to _stop this from happening again._

Father... Federico... Petruccio... _Cristina..._

No.

He would _not_ add another face to his list of losses. _He would not!_

"... and this!" the young man added, ignorant of Ezio's movements. In his hands he held a silver ball, glowing gold along intricate grooves. The Apple...!

Ezio's pace doubled, his lungs burning, his muscles straining, his heart fit to burst. Tiles were exploding at his feet, footing was hard to come by, but none of it mattered.

_He would stop this!_

He did not see the guards on the city walls of the mechanisms in their hands.

The caped soldier, clearly the leader of this invasion, waited for Ezio to show even as Ezio pushed himself harder. Impatience overtook the man and he said something in a low voice to another, presumably a lieutenant and grabbing something, before looking up again. "We've had too much bloodshed," he called out, a bright, winning smile on his face. "I think a cleansing is in order. So, consider this an invitation," he added, raising the mechanism high in the air for all to see, "from my family..."

Mario swayed on his knees, blood seeping from his grey temple, and the man pointed it, taking slow, deliberate aim.

No.

No.

_No_.

He had to stop-

"... to yours!"

Just a few more feet-!

The explosion rang out everywhere, impossibly loud and filled with pain.

Ezio saw his uncle, he had looked up and seen Ezio, and then the side of his head exploded in blood and brain matter, bits of bone and ear flying off in pieces.

Ezio stared, confused, numb. Petruccio, neck snapping; Federico, slowly strangling; Giovanni, swinging before he had been brained; Cristina, handing him the family crest; and now Mario, head exploding in blood. The images burned into his brain, and he felt weak in the knees. Blood burst from his chest, perhaps his heart had at last broken from all the pain, and then he was falling...

* * *

_"Uncle... be careful."_

_ "I will."_

* * *

Arms above his head.

Rough cobblestones scraping along his back.

Dark sky. Smoke. Quiet. Why was it so quiet?

Mario... Where was Mario's laughter...?

Oh, _god..._

Ezio nearly passed out again, but he saw one of the men dragging him was Ulderico, Claudia's husband. Claudia...? Where was she? And Federica and Maria?

He had to be strong, he had to get to them, make sure they were alright. He couldn't bear it if...!

"Stop... stop!" he groaned. "I can walk."

"Ezio..." Ulderico said, hoisting him to his feet.

"Claudia, where is Claudia?" Ezio pressed, Mario filling his vision. He swayed on his feet and struggled to stay upright. He couldn't afford to be weak now!

"If she listened to reason she's already escaped," he said in clipped tones. "Everyone's escaped thanks to you, now we need to get ourselves out of here."

Ezio nodded, used to being upright now, and took a deep breath.

The other mercenary who had been carrying him suddenly pointed. "Look out! They are coming! Everyone retreat to the Villa!"

Ezio reached for his sword, dimly shocked it was still with him, and winced as he drew it. Only then did he realize he had been shot, blood pouring out of his shoulder and a sticky, wet, red line down his shirt and now his trousers. How much blood had he lost? The damage was extensive, regardless, Ezio could barely hold his sword even though it was his left shoulder that had been injured. He extended his hidden blade, but he could barely move his arm. He growled. "I cannot fight like this..."

"You don't need to," Ulderico said, his own sword already drawn. He and the other mercenary ran at the encroaching guards and mowed them down, Ezio watching his former sword instructor fell three men in two heartbeats, such was his skill. One managed to break away, advancing on Ezio, obviously thinking the injured party an easy kill. Ezio lifted his sword and blocked the attack, sending pain _shooting_ up his body and he staggered back before adjusting his footing and dully spinning around the Borgia man, making to stab him in the back before remembering his left arm could hardly move.

Ulderico was there, then, and swung with such ferocity that the guard was nearly cleaved in half.

"_Grazie_," Ezio said, panting.

"Repay me by looking after my daughter," Ulderico said.

"That's not my job."

"It will be if I don't make it, Ezio; and I don't think I'm going to."

Ezio shook his head, his vision swimming briefly. "Don't talk like that."

Ulderico said nothing more, gripping his arm and helping him over and around the rubble of the city. One of the trees had snapped and they climbed over the twisted limbs painfully, Ezio's sharp eyes picking out a flood for Borgia guards racing up the steps to the villa. Bodies were everywhere, making the going slow, and Ulderico and his mercenaries, three more appeared from nowhere, dove into the fray and added to the pile, Ezio limping up after them. Had his legs been hit?

The training ring was in ruins, an Auditore flag from somewhere hanging over it like a bloodied shroud and Ezio felt sick to his stomach.

More guards were on the green of the villa, engaged with a contingent of Auditore mercenaries, and amongst them Ezio and Ulderico both saw the rich frock of someone both of them loved.

"Ezio!" Claudia shouted.

"What are you _doing_?" Ulderico shouted even while Ezio yelled, "Get inside the Sanctuary!"

"Follow me!" she answered bloody dagger in hand, darting through the battle. Ulderico's forces engaged, quickly turning the tide of the fight and giving the captain and Ezio the chance to navigate the throng to join Claudia, already around the southeast corner of the villa and beckoning them forth. Signs of a hasty retreat were everywhere, the grass upturned, muddy footprints, the lost shoe or dropped parcel as the population of the city had run to the sanctuary of the villa. "Mother is at the tunnel with Federica," Claudia explained, "helping everyone through. I've been at the doors of the villa, looking for you."

"I told you to get out while you could!"

"And _I_ told _you_ that I was not going to lose _anyone_, _ever_ again. Ezio, where is Uncle? I still haven't seen him, someone said he was leading a frontal assault?"

Ezio's vision darkened, the picture of an exploding temple burning deeper into his brain, and his knees gave out.

"He's dead, Claudia, I'm sorry," Ulderico said, his voice distant as Ezio struggled back to his feet.

Her face paled, eyes wide, and for a brief moment her entire body shook, but then Ezio watched as his _piccina's_ face hardened – a look that he had never been able to spare from seeing on her, and said nothing more. He had failed her in so many ways, hurt was blossoming everywhere and not just from blood loss.

There were bodies everywhere, even the back of the villa, where the fighting seemed to be the most bitter, Borgia guards and Auditore forces both littered the ground, but a handful of mercenaries stayed, bloody swords and axes and staves ready for the next wave. They all nodded to Ezio and Claudia, letting them through with a mumbled "good luck" or "thank you" and the three beelined to Mario's study. Ezio's heart ached with memory of time spent in that office, but the back bookshelf was open and beckoning. One of Volpe's lieutenants, Paganino, was there, eying the opening curiously.

"We thought you had been killed, _Ser_ Ezio," he said, awestruck at the sight of them.

"Not yet," he said bitterly.

The one eyed thief blinked. "Where does this passage lead?"

"To the north, outside the city walls."

"I'm surprised it exists."

"They're coming!" one of the mercenaries from outside shouted.

Ezio ushered his sister in, hot on her heels and reached to press his boot on the mechanism to close it before a hand touched his good shoulder. He turned to see Ulderico with bright eyes, and watched the captain capture Claudia in a tight embrace, kissing her hard on the lips. What...?

"I'm going to lead a diversion," he said in low tones. "Tell Federica her father died a hero, and tell her it was all so that she could live a happy life."

"Ulderico, what...?" Claudia asked, before she was kissed again.

"Ezio," he said gravely. "Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you differently."

Ezio was stunned. "You can't seriously think...!"

But Ulderico had pressed his boot to the stone, the bookshelf beginning to swing shut, and drew his bloody sword. "Lock the door," he said before giving a ferocious shout and disappearing from view.

"Let me through," Paganino, squeezing through the closing bookshelf. "I must go help the troops."

"Ulderico! _Ulderico!_" Claudia shouted, moving to follow.

Ezio grabbed her arm and nearly threw her back.

"Let me go! Ezio! Please!"

The sounds of battle, swords meeting, shouts and yells, death throws, thuds of bodies, came from beyond the shelf, and Ezio winced at the sounds, hating himself over and over, before reaching up and pushing the wrought iron locks into place. He placed his forehead against the wood, breathing shallow and uneven, as he listened to Ulderico die protecting the secret of the entrance. The battle lasted for several minutes, an agonizing eternity, blood pouring out of his shoulder, and soon it all fell silent.

He turned a guilty gaze to Claudia, her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes had hardened again, and she turned and walked down the steps to the Sanctuary. "Hurry, Ezio," she said in a low voice.

Ezio limped after her, his arm hanging useless at his side. More signs of mass exodus littered the steps down to the Sanctuary, the once pristine altar to past assassins, a place of knowledge and respect and honor of the order now filled with dirt and footprints and mud and blood. Dimly, he wondered if anything else in his life would be defiled, and the thought sent a deep shudder through his body.

"Where's Mother?" he demanded, voice rough. "Is she all right?"

Please, please let even _one_ thing be spared.

"I am here Ezio," and Ezio looked up to see his mother and niece. Federica ran to her mother, clutching her, and relief – however brief – swept over Ezio.

"Thank God," he said, swaying again on his feet before catching himself.

"We could not leave without you," she said simply.

Ezio nodded, understanding. "The way out will be dangerous." He looked to Claudia. "Protect our mother and Federica."

"You don't even need to ask," she said firmly, clutching the bloody dagger in her hand.

The four of them pushed down the tunnels, Maria holding a torch and Federica clutching her mother tightly. It didn't take long to catch up with the rest of Monteriggioni's citizenry, milling about and looking lost. "_Ser_ Ezio!" one of them cried, seeing the Auditore family. "Where do we go?"

"This way," Ezio replied, wincing as pain swept over his shoulder and pushing it aside. What was that old saying? No rest for the weary?

Mario filled his vision, shot in the head.

Ulderico sacrificing himself.

He grunted, pushing the emotions aside.

Pointing the way, he led everyone through the tunnels, casting only a glance at the entrance to the Auditore crypt. "Mother, do you know if anyone was stationed at the other side of the crypt?" he asked.

"No, the attack came too suddenly to properly organize."

"_Merda_, then we have to hurry," he said, quickening his pace. "This way, everyone this way."

The tunnels were dark save the occasional torch someone carried. Ezio's eagle eyes navigated the shadows expertly, catching every dip and curve of the route, confident in his steps even as he limped and hunched and winced through the pain. His shirt kept sticking to him because of the blood, but he paid it no heed, guiding everyone to the exit.

"Soldiers! I have found an entrance."

The cry echoed very dimly through the tunnel, and panic swept through the people.

"Stop shouting," Ezio growled, "Or they'll know which way to go!"

The cold, bitter logic quieted them mostly, Federica was sniffling at his side and staring at his bloody frame, but Ezio put all his focus on escape and leading everyone out. They reached the bridge leading to the mines and gestured everyone to cross first, extending his hidden blade and standing guard in case the Borgia found them. Maria shuffled past, all but tugging her granddaughter along, and Claudia cast one hard look to her brother before joining them.

"Ezio!" she called, "We are on the other side! Hurry!"

He had only just made it over the bridge when he heard the influx of more soldiers. Growling, he scraped his sword over the rope of the bridge, sawing at it until it broke. Three men fell to into the water below, and with a pitiful swing, Ezio was able to cut the other side, the bridge swinging down the chasm between.

"_Cazzo!_" One of them cursed.

Ezio didn't even give them a second thought, pushing his way down the tunnel and rejoining the crowd of refugees. A refugee... where would he even go...?

His vision swam again, and he pitched to the side of the tunnel, taking a deep breath, suddenly sweating, before getting a hold of himself. His left shoulder was throbbing so loud his ears seemed to pound in the staccato, and it was several moments before he could focus beyond the erratic beat.

They made it to the far end of the mine, and several people breathed a sigh of relief. Small though the mines were, they were a labyrinth in their complexity, surely the enemy would lose them here. He saw Maria and Federica at the head of the procession, a beacon of calm in the face of the disaster happening around them. Some of the citizens were miners, quick to point out the correct path, and the pace quickened with confidence. Ezio trailed behind, sabotaging pursuers in whatever way he could, cutting down bridges or blocking entrances. In the middle of doing so he heard the distinct shriek of his sister, and saw a collection of pulley bricks falling.

"_Claudia...!_"

He darted forward, falling to his knees to check on his family. She looked up, shaken.

"Ezio!"

"Did anything fall on you?"

"No. Is Mother all right? Federica?"

"They're at the head of the column, they should be fine. We have to keep moving."

"_Si._"

Ezio moved to the head of the column again, hoping to prevent further problems from arising. Light could be seen at the end of the tunnel, and a swell of relief passed through the people, some darting ahead to see the gates of the mine, the wrought iron door that Ezio took position at as he ushered people out into the awaiting countryside.

"I see them! This way!"

God _damn_ it!

"Run!" Ezio shouted, "Get out before the soldiers catch you! Run! Go!"

One Borgia man was decidedly quick, and Ezio pulled at the lever of the gates, straining already exhausted muscles and feeling a fresh explosion of pain in his shoulder. The guard tried to dive under the gate, but could not fight gravity, and was impaled by the iron bars.

It was sunset outside; the attack had lasted the entire day. Ezio struggled to remember what had happened before the first shelling, it felt like a lifetime ago. Dozens of people huddled together, a few horses running riderless and others being carefully packed for whatever journey was being set out on.

"Mother," Federica mumbled, clutching Maria's side. "What do we do now?"

Claudia looked to her brother.

Ezio took a deep breath, swaying on his feet, and struggled to think. "... Go to Firenze," he said finally. "Machiavelli is a diplomat there, and he can probably provide some shelter. Paola is there, too, if she survived this, and can keep you hidden."

"A good idea," Maria said slowly.

"Get me a horse!"

Claudia blinked, watching as someone pulled a skittish mare to Ezio as he grabbed the reins. "You are not coming with us? Where are you riding?"

"To Roma," he said.

"What? You can't just...!"

"Go, my son," Maria said, stepping up and touching Ezio's knee as he mounted. "Destroy them... but remember for whom we Assassins fight."

"We fight for the people, Mother, I have not forgotten." He bent down to kiss her, but his body erupted in pain and he shrugged away from it. "It appears that Machiavelli was right. Now I have to correct my mistakes."

And he spurred his horse into a gallop and took off down the road, into the darkness.

He lost track of how long he was in the saddle; the adrenaline drained out of him and so, too, did his faculties. His shoulder was on fire, and he at last figured out that the stitches from Borgia's stab wound had been reopened, causing the blood at his hip. He shivered violently in the January chill – no cloak, no doublet, no blood to keep him warm, and he hunched in on himself as he could to try and retain what little heat he had. He looked up, dimly, to see the moon up, and for a brief moment he forgot what he was doing, wondering why he was outside in the cold. Mario would be sure to scold-

Bone and ear flying, blood and brain matter splattering, a half blind gaze staring at him.

Mario... _Mario_...

_"We stand together!"_

_"Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you differently."_

Ulderico, too, and all the mercenaries, and the people, and _Monteriggioni_...!

_"You should have killed him. We're sure to suffer for it."_

Machiavelli was right. He should have killed Borgia when he had the chance and now... now...

"Father," he moaned, head touching the saddle. "I've failed again..."

Strength left him all in one fell swoop, and his body slid off the horse. He was so far gone that the pain of landing on the cobblestones weren't even felt.

All he remembered was thinking that brigands better not loot his body...

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Er, while we're nowhere near done, we've officially started this fic, and we humbly submit this first chapter in the hopes it will satiate you all until we finish.

Special thanks to our two betas: Tenshi and Marina, for checking over not only for spelling and our obsessive worry about the flow of this chapter, but also picking through the Italian with a fluent comb and fixing all the mistakes.

As for the chapter itself: dear GAWD we wrote a lemon we're going straight to heeeelll... Sigh. It's not that we haven't read or even thought them up before, but there's something about actually putting words to keyboard; we're such prudes that we can't quite believe we actually did it. Groooooooooaaan...

But though we moan over that, our biggest worry over this chapter is the flow. There's always a disconnect when you have to stop talking about what's happening to establish things in the past. Especially in a fic like this where an entire game, twenty years worth of events, has already taken place - and moreover, deals directly with how the fic begins. We both of us banged our heads over establishing things, both here and later with Desmond. Tenshi reassures us that it's fine, and after rereading it all a month later, it's not _too_ bad, but we're still paranoid.

The most important things to note in this chapter is Machiavelli and Claudia - perhaps for obvious reasons, but suffice to say we're going to take a lot of care with writing them. Also note the damage to his shoulder. We're not going to be subtle at all with how much we play with that.

Poor Ezio. He back at zero.

Next chapter (to be put up when we finish writing the fic; summer...?): Hello Desmond! Did you enjoy your lemon?

**Author's Note II:** Fixed the Italian mistakes; sorry Marina, uploaded the wrong document. We can't move after the Jan Blizzard (and its 30 inches) and the latest storm that dropped 22 inches of HEAVY WET SNOW. We're gonna go crash now.


	2. New City, Old Home

**Part Two: New City, Old Home**

Desmond blinked, looking up to the roof of the truck, feeling as the vehicle slowly crawled to a stop. He took a deep breath, reaching up and holding his shoulder, phantom pain shuddering through it but fading slowly. God that was incredibly... Desmond didn't have the words. He rubbed at his face, finding drying tear tracks and trying to sort himself.

It was 2012 after all, not 1500.

But it wasn't like this was Desmond's first time diving into the past.

When the Templars, now masquerading as the multi-national conglomerate known as Abstergo, had kidnapped him only a couple weeks prior, he'd been forced to live one summer of the life of Altair ibn La'Ahad in 1191, during the Third Crusade. That was an emotional ride as well as Desmond had _lived_, literally _lived_ the change of Altair from an arrogant, selfish bastard to a wizened, contemplative, thoughtful leader who had sparked the whole battle he was now facing with Abstergo. And then he'd lived two full decades of Ezio Auditore da Firenze, from Renaissance Italy, who had witnessed half his family assassinated and then sought revenge, learning and growing to a less brash, more thoughtful adult.

And as grateful as Desmond was to have the experience, to have learned what Ezio learned, and now being able to move as both he and Altair did, with grace and precision, Desmond _really_ didn't care for the invasion of privacy. He wasn't just watching someone's life. He was _living_ it like it was his own. He could feel the emotions, thoughts, memories, _everything_ that made these men in every breath he partook in.

The grief of watching everything Ezio had spent two decades building, the family he had left dying, well, it was really no wonder that Desmond had been crying. Because it felt like he'd lost part of _his_ family, something that _he_ had been building for decades, even though he'd only known Ezio for about a week.

It was the curse of the Animus, the one thing that Desmond hated about reliving so much. It was that he really did _relive_ it. With far more accuracy than Lucy, or Shaun, or Rebecca realized. Ezio's hardships, joys, pitfalls, struggles, were now as much a part of him as Desmond's own life experiences. The same for Altair.

And if Desmond wasn't careful, he'd slowly be unable to identify which part was him and which part was related to Ezio or Altair. Then he'd go insane, like the previous subjects of the Animus, like Subject Sixteen, his immediate predecessor who had gone so nuts he'd painted the walls of Desmond's cell at Abstergo with crazy ramblings _in his own blood_.

Desmond didn't want to end up like that.

So he took a breath and made sure that he was himself. Ezio, tragic as that most recent turn was, had already lived his life and died. Desmond was just a witness. It hadn't actually _happened_ to him.

Focusing on his shoulder, Desmond let out a breath. The phantom pain was gone. Desmond was himself. So he sat up.

"Lucy," Rebecca said from her station by the Animus, "I can't seem to get a position on Ezio's P. O. E." Rebecca Crane, technological genius for the Assassins, and who had taken the Animus to the next level with only her wiring and coding skills, and usually presided over Desmond's sessions in the Animus. She marched to the beat of her own drum, and had clearly led an adventurous life before being recruited to the Assassins. Her headphones, which usually played some sort of rock that her contralto voice had strained singing in years past, were down by her neck, making her wild dark hair even darker.

Desmond blinked again, confused. "P. O. E.? Could you tell me what's going on?"

"Sorry, Desmond," Lucy said, turning from the driver's seat in front of the van. "Piece of Eden. In the Vatican, Minerva talked about other temples, that they're the key to preventing whatever terrible thing is about to happen to Earth." Lucy Stillman was the leader of their group, and the hot blond had been Desmond's only link to anything during his tenure at Abstergo. She had been deep undercover, risking her life by working with Templars every day and doing terrible things to maintain her cover, until she had finally broken Desmond out and brought him to the relative safety of the Assassins.

Minerva had been one of Those Who Came Before, an ancient race that had died out eons ago. She was a large figure in Ezio's recent life, having spoken to him in Rome before Ezio returned to Monteriggioni to witness its demise. She'd had a message for Desmond, and had spoken to Ezio, somehow knowing that Desmond would be living the memory again centuries later. A message of the apocalypse, which Desmond even a week ago, would have laughed outright at.

After all, apocalyptic nonsense had been around for eons and yet the world kept on spinning. He doubted that the end of the Mayan calendar would be any worse than when the new millennium dawned or any of the other times that the world was supposed to end.

But after having Minerva speak to him so directly, from centuries past, knowing he'd get the message because Ezio was his ancestor...

Well, Desmond couldn't quite dismiss that out of hand any more.

It was September 18. They had just over ninety days to figure out how to stop a worldwide cataclysm of a solar flare or eclipse or something.

That was just a walk in the park. Sure it was. No really.

"Right," Desmond nodded, standing and stretching. Lucy and Shaun got out of the front of the cab and Lucy came around to open the back.

"To find the temples," she continued, referencing temples of old that Minerva had mentioned, "I'm convinced we need to get our hands on Ezio's Apple of Eden. If the readings of the Animus are right, Minerva altered it somehow when she 'touched' it."

He agreed. He remembered watching the hologram of Minerva reach out to the Apple, felt the Apple giggle with its new directive. Whatever that directive was, it was worth it to find it and get help to do the whole over-done "save the world" thing.

And god, they really had to _save the world_. No pressure.

No, not at all.

Desmond hopped down and looked around, his sarcastic thoughts scattering as he looked in awe.

"Wait. We're at the Auditore Villa?" he whispered, his eyes following all of Ezio's old routes up buildings or through streets that were now bizarrely lit by electric lampposts with tiny European cars parked where hitching posts once were. Modern metal signage were on the walls or posts noting traffic patterns or no trespassers allowed in modern Italian that looked slightly strange compared to the Renaissance Italian Desmond had been hearing and speaking, or the Latin that he was expecting to see painted the signs of Alder's bank or Santino's smithy.

His memories of Ezio's years here kept trying to overlap the modern equivalent right in front of him. The training, the racing of thieves, talking with that girl with the boxes of flowers, visiting the brothel to help the wounded whores who came for respite, talking to the citizens and seeing what they needed. Even debating religion with the old priest of the church.

Watching buildings collapse. Whole sections of the city wall crumbling. People screaming, begging and crying for family members as they tried to run from the shelling. Ezio's horse being crushed under rubble as Ezio barely escaped to climb the walls. The morning sun glinting of tiles as they flew through the air. The smoke of cannons, both Borgia and their own wafting overhead.

This wasn't the collapsed and destroyed city he'd just left in the Animus. This was modern overlaying an ancient city-state.

This was...

Bizarre.

_Era impossibile._

"Yes," Lucy nodded. "It's our last safe house in Italy. It turns out the Templars are watching the border."

Of course this would be the last place the Templars would look. Why come back to a known stronghold, even if it was from centuries past? Desmond couldn't quite hold back a grin at the irony of it.

Rebecca crouched by the edge of the van. "Ezio hid the P.O.E. sometime in 1507," she said, her contralto voice perplexed, "but when I try to access that DNA sequence, he seems to be... remembering something else."

Well that sounded familiar. "Like a memory inside a memory?" Desmond asked, remembering how difficult it was for Abstergo to access Altair's particular memory of the map of the world and other Pieces of Eden, seeing as how Altair remembered the confrontation with his old mentor Al Mualim more than the holographic map.

Rebecca nodded. "Yes. Exactly," she paused. "Maybe."

"Exactly maybe?" Desmond said flatly, looking to Lucy and raising an eyebrow. She shrugged.

Shaun stepped around the truck. "I believe you experienced something similar back at Abstergo, didn't you?"

Desmond scowled severely at the British historian. Like Rebecca, Shaun Hastings had been recruited to the Assassins, instead of being born into the brotherhood as most were. The Brit had a distinct knack for putting pieces together and seeing hidden connections that had lead him to finding out about Abstergo and almost getting killed as a result. But where Rebecca was easy-going and fun, and Lucy was steady and calm, if always worried, Shaun was a sarcastic, grumbling, condescending bastard. He was almost funny, once you got past his sideways insults, but the historian had a perverted streak a mile wide that he didn't bother to hide. He enjoyed Ezio's amorous encounters, not understanding a damn thing. It was Shaun's fault Desmond had been forced to live through Ezio's long night with Caterina and Desmond was still pissed off for it.

"You perverted dick," he said harshly. "Don't you _ever_ do something like that again."

Shaun raised an amused brow. "Oh, are you _really_ that much of a prude?"

Desmond stepped right into Shaun's spa_ce, not liking this basta_rdo's lack of respect. "Once you feel the _sorrow_ and _pain_ Ezio is trying to escape from every fucking winter by warming a bed for a few hours, once you remember the _grief_ his _piccina_ Claudia went through from that _cazzo_, Duccio, once you remember the _longing_ and the _ache_ of losing Cristina and how no woman will ever measure up to that, once you have all _that_ running through your very _soul_ when you decide to sleep with someone, _then_ tell me it's just another porno to you."

Shaun had the decency to look abashed at least. "I hate going through those memories for a _reason,_ you slut, so show some damn respect." Desmond let out a controlled breath and then stepped back, reigning in his anger at the historian and refocusing on the task at hand.

There was an awkward pause before Lucy went back to the point Shaun had made.

"At Abstergo, Subject Fifteen exhibited memory-within-memory-like patterns, but she was pregnant," she said. "The memories of both the fetus' father and mother were competing."

Shaun crossed his arms and rubbed his chin. "Desmond's not pregnant," he said, looking the new Assassin up and down. "At least, as far as I can tell. Might have just had a big lunch," he said, patting Desmond's stomach.

Right. This was Shaun's apology: make fun of the newbie. Typical sarcastic British historian. Desmond rolled his eyes. Sometimes the best approach to Shaun was to flat out ignore him.

Lucy stepped between them to Rebecca, who was still at the edge of the truck.

"Can you skip ahead to a later memory?" she asked.

"Naw," Rebecca sighed, "it doesn't work."

It certainly hadn't with Altair at Abstergo. Desmond had had to go through the entire summer before hand before he'd built up enough synchronization to go through the fight with Al Mualim without losing the thread.

Lucy nodded. "Well that sounds familiar. We couldn't access Altaïr's later memories until Desmond had improved his synchronization."

"Frankly, I don't see how much more I can synch with Ezio," Desmond grumbled. "I've lived his whole life."

"Then it's possible something similar has occurred here," Shaun agreed, ignoring Desmond as Desmond had ignored him. "Ezio's troubled state is being transposed onto Desmond, destabilizing the memory." Then he threw a smile up to Rebecca. "Either that, or Rebecca's just not a very good engineer."

"Thanks, asshole."

"What?" Shaun said with feigned innocence. "I'm simply listing possible explanations. And that is amongst the most likely. Tou-chy..."

Rebecca had the smarts to ignore him. The two could trade barbs all night if they wanted, but Rebecca was usually the one mature enough to let a subject drop. "This place isn't secure. Cell phone surveillance can see right through the walls."

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean satellite surveillance?" They hadn't advanced in tech that much since he'd left the Assassins all those years ago, had they? Granted, he'd run away ten years prior from the Assassins, but back then it was _satellite_ surveillance they worried about. Technology hadn't changed _that_ much in his time away had it? He may be rusty, but Desmond had made a point of staying up-to-date on hacking software, backdoors and such to keep himself off the grid and hidden.

"Are you kidding?" Rebecca replied. "Abstergo upgraded to cell towers ages ago. The waves go through everything above ground. They're gonna find us."

"No they aren't," Lucy smiled. "Come with me."

Desmond smirked, wondering what she had in mind.

They climbed up the steps to the Villa, sticking to shadows when possible. Desmond was amazed that there were no people out and he had to wonder what time of night it was. The full moon overhead didn't give any indication and the stars that were normally so easy to see on such a night were invisible with the light pollution of the modern day. Desmond oddly missed the stars and constellations that Ezio would see at night.

Walking along the eastern side of the Villa, Desmond felt a distinct ache in his shoulder, the same spot Ezio had been shot at, and he pushed the feeling away. After all, the last time he'd walked this path, Ezio had been bleeding and about to lose everything he'd gained after the loss of his family decades earlier. It was only natural to remember what he'd just been living through not even an hour ago.

Right?

Desmond was unconvinced, and forcibly looked at the electric lights and signs of the more modern day to stay focused on what year it really was.

In the end they finally reached the rear of the Villa and slipped into Mario's study.

Where the town down below didn't show signs of cannon fire that Ezio had just survived, the study looked as shattered as Ezio remembered it, only more decayed from the five centuries that had passed. The books were all gone, either pilfered or turned to dust, and Mario's crafted desk that had been there for decades was in pieces, if it even was the right desk. The shelves still stood solid against time, but were worn and lacked the polished sheen Desmond remembered from Ezio's many months studying Altair's Codex here.

Lucy immediately went to the hidden door, trying to move the bookcase blocking it. It didn't budge.

"Boys?" she asked, turning to them.

Shaun looked distinctly put out, but both he and Desmond heaved at the bookcase, and it didn't even so much as twitch.

"Not good," Rebecca muttered, checking her tablet. "We don't have forever."

Lucy started tapping, listening to the echoes behind.

"There's a beam blocking it from the inside," she sighed. "We're not getting in this way."

"No surprise," Desmond muttered. "Ezio did lock the door behind him."

"What's our next move?" Rebecca asked.

"The road just loops back into the highway," Lucy said, worry underlying her voice. "This is not a good place for us to be right now."

Rebecca looked around, trying to find something to do. "Do we have any tarps? We need to cover up the van."

Shaun was talking before she even finished. "I _really_ hate to stress this, yeah, but we _are_ running out of time."

"Well help us then, Shaun," Lucy said in irritation. "Do you have any ideas?"

"I don't know," Shaun said softly, "maybe there's another way into the Sanctuary? The Borgia got in, after all."

Desmond wasn't listening, however, as they dissolved into problem solving.

He simply looked to the door they had just come into, reme_mbering a lively race with a hunted thief who had cau_ght up with him at Mario's study.

"Hey," Desmond said, squinting at the ghostly figure of Ezio. "I think I've got something."

Desmond followed, breaking into a full run to the back wall of villa. He saw Ezio glancing down to calculate before diving off the edge and Desmond saw that the iron safety fence was broken in that spot.

"Follow me," he said to the others as he nimbly leapt up and through the broken fence to the support beam. Instinct took over. Ezio knew that the jump would be safe so Desmond leapt into the darkness below, having complete faith that his leap was safe all the way down until he smelled the sweet scent of hay. He heard the gasps above him, but it didn't matter. The wind as he fell meant he was _free_.

He lay in the hay for a while, looking up to the moon, smelling the hay and the droppings of horses that must still ride by, the scent of the farmland around him that had remained farmland, despite the centuries that had passed, and modern scents of car exhaust.

Lucy had somehow made her way down, though not through such a glorious leap of faith, and Desmond finally stepped out of the hay, feeling more alive than he'd had in _years_.

Even though he'd felt the leaps in the Animus, it didn't _truly_ compare to doing it himself.

"Desmond," Lucy said with clear astonishment in her voice, "that was... pretty... _awesome_."

Desmond shrugged, unable to wipe off a smile. "It... just felt natural." He looked to the mines. "We can get in through here." He stepped into the darkness.

Behind him, Lucy smiled softly. "Good job."

"Oh," Shaun called from above, "We'll just wait up here then shall we... yeah? All alone, with, with _massive_ targets painted on our backs?"

Desmond very happily let Shaun's voice fade behind him. Rebecca knew how to handle him and Desmond didn't mind leaving it to her. He could feel Lucy behind him, reaching into her bag for something. He looked around, the moonlight failing to reach into the mines. Desmond had always had sharp eyes, born in part from his growing up as an Assassin, but even this gloom was hard to pierce without any source of light. So Desmond focused on eagles and the sharpness of their vision and reached for that tiny corner in the back of his mind that no normal person could touch and looked again.

His eagle vision was clearer than his regular vision, but Desmond knew from his ancestors that this other sight could come in different forms. Altair's senses would sharpen, literally seeing as sharply as an eagle, and his hearing and smell and taste all improved towards his hunting down his target. Ezio's instincts put his surroundings into color, gold for what he was searching for and red for an enemy. Desmond, personally, thought both of those interpretations of eagle vision were useful. His, he didn't care for as much. It was more like CSI forensics. He could see stains, fingerprints, items meant to be invisible. It did nothing for him in the pitch blackness of the mines.

Lucy growled in frustration behind him. "Why won't this turn on..."

Desmond stretched, pulling at his muscles and shaking them to limber up for what was likely going to be a long trek through the mines.

An actual trek. Not running around a warehouse to build up endurance, but an actual honest-to-God objective to work towards.

He couldn't quite hold back a happy sigh, relishing true freedom for the first time in... years.

Ever since he'd run from the Assassins, he'd been so very restrained and careful to not stand out. He'd join local free-runners from time to time, but he'd kept his head down to avoid standing out. Abstergo took his controlled life and took away his control, sticking him in the Animus, determining what he ate and when, the time he went to bed. Even joining Lucy and Rebecca and Shaun was still him in the Animus, though he finally was doing so by choice.

This, however?

This was wondrous.

This was him doing things he'd actually been longing to do for years. "It's great to be out of the Animus," he said quietly, with a large smile.

"This isn't exactly my idea of a good time," Lucy bit out just above a growl, still fiddling with whatever she was trying to turn on.

Desmond's smile widened. "Let me guess: you're more the in-bed-at-six type," he teased.

"What?" Lucy said indignantly. "Desmond! I _know_ how to have fun."

"Oh, that's very convincing. Yeah, I'm convinced."

"Okay," Lucy said lightly and archly. "Okay," she defended playfully. "After we save the world, I'll _show_ you."

He smiled even more. "Wait, can I get that in writing?" he chuckled.

She laughed.

Whatever Lucy was going to say was cut off, however, as a soft golden glow spread out from a glow-stick that she'd apparently been trying to turn on. "We have light!"

"Good," Desmond smiled. Lucy handed him another glow-stick and he easily turned it on, attaching it to a beltloop as Lucy did. The golden glow spread out around them and they finally took a look at the mines. The beams still held strong, and though they showed signs of age, appeared solid. Out ahead of them, just barely in the glow, were three different tunnels spreading out.

"Great," Lucy mumbled, "which way do we go?"

Desmond switched to his eagle vision again, hoping something might stick out at him. Sure enough, glowing a dull red, were drops of blood, staining the ground under centuries of dirt. Desmond's shoulder suddenly ached from a bullet wound that was not his own. It was the trail of all the citizens as they bled during their escape.

Including Ezio.

"This way," Desmond said, going to the tunnel in the middle.

Lucy looked at him questioningly, but said nothing, following along.

Once in the tunnel, it was a straight shot, and Desmond slipped back to his normal vision, not wishing to strain whatever allowed him to look with his other sight. Within moments they came across the heavy iron gate that blocked the soldier, Desmond stopping and dodging to the side as the ghost of a villager darted past him. An echo of Ezio shouting, _Run! Get out before the soldiers catch you! Run! Go!_ rang through the tunnels.

Desmond blinked, trying to _not_ see it. "What was that?" he asked, hoping that he wasn't the only one seeing ghosts.

"I don't see anything," Lucy said quietly.

Desmond watched Ezio strain at a lever, causing the heavy iron to fall, impaling a soldier that was now just a skeleton.

"They escaped through here," he said quietly, gesturing to the bones.

"What?" Lucy asked.

"Ezio and the villagers," Desmond clarified. "After the attack, I can see them now. For a few seconds there."

Lucy put a hand to his arm. "I know it's difficult," she said softly. "But try and compartmentalize, Desmond. Focus on the present. Don't get lost in seeing what was."

But Desmond was worried. He remembered what Subject Sixteen had become, even if he'd never met his predecessor from Vidic's tender mercies. It was one thing to jump and leap with the grace of his ancestors because it was getting built into his muscle memory from the Bleeding Effect, but it was quite another to actually _watch_ his genetic memories when he wasn't hooked up to the Animus.

"What if I can't stop the visions?" he asked quietly, staring down at the skeleton and still faintly seeing the face that was once there. He looked like he'd originally come from Milan. "How long before I start painting symbols on the walls?"

"Don't joke about that," Lucy said quietly, but firmly, looking away as her own guilt over assisting in Sixteen's insanity flooded up. "Sixteen is dead. We're focusing on the present, okay?"

Desmond sighed, but put his own hand over hers to give a reassuring squeeze. Subject Sixteen loomed over both of them heavily, albeit for different reasons. Lucy was right. She knew enough about the Bleeding Effect and how to effectively postpone it long enough for him to stay sane. He simply had to trust her.

So Desmond ignored the vision of the past he wasn't supposed to see and went to the lever, heaving it as much as he could. The heavy iron gate strained against Desmond's leverage, and lifted out of the skeleton, but was only about a foot and a half above the ground.

He let the gate drop down with a grunt. "Great," he grumbled. "It's stuck!"

"I can get under there," Lucy offered.

Desmond shook out his arms and nodded. With a grunt of effort, he heaved the lever again, raising the heavy gate the foot and a half it would go. "Ready," he grunted, and Lucy darted underneath, slipping easily through.

With a great _thunk_, the gate fell back down.

Frowning, Desmond looked through the bars to Lucy. "Any chance you can lift that gate?"

Lucy scoffed. "Not unless you want me to end up like that skeleton."

"I'll find another way around."

He stepped back, unlooping his glow-stick enough to hold it up for a better look around. To his left was a pile of rocks that didn't look natural and when he looked, he saw that it was rubble meant for some sort of cart out of the mine. Looking up, he saw an opening from what was likely a higher tunnel.

"Lucy," he said through the bars, "I don't suppose you see a hole in the ceiling a little ways down the tunnel?"

The blond saw the direction his eyes were going and knew what he was thinking. "I'll go take a look."

"Watch out for bats," he called out after her.

"_Where_?" she shouted, ducking and looking around.

Desmond couldn't hold back his laugh. "I _meant_ in case you see any."

"Remind me not to make you a lookout," she called back. Her glow continued to get further away before she started back. "There's an opening above, some collapsed roofing. I think you can get through there."

Desmond carefully picked his way to the upper tunnel, all too aware that there were easily five centuries of age to contend with and making sure of each handhold and foothold as he climbed and eased his way down the tunnel, trying to stay parallel with the direction he'd seen Lucy go moments before and dropping down.

They continued through the labyrinth of tunnels, Desmond switching to his Eagle Vision to make sure they were following the right path whenever they came across a fork in the tunnels.

_Claudia!_

_ Ezio!_

"Desmond?"

He shook his head. "More ghosts," Desmond muttered.

"I'm here, okay?" Lucy said, her hand on his arm again. "Just stay with me."

_Did anything fall on you?_

_ No. Is Mother all right? Federica?_

The ghosts faded and Desmond just sighed, switching to his other vision to find the trail again. Continuing down the tunnels, they came to the bottom of a sharp drop, a crumbled ladder at the base. After much poking around, Desmond spied an old pulley system, much akin to what Ezio had used so successfully at the fortifications when the Borgia had attacked. With some quick words, he haggled Lucy to join him before kicking the lever and going _flying_ up the rope and to an upper level. Lucy had been startled out of her mind, to Desmond's amusement.

Further along and the mine no longer looked like a mine. Statues and graves started appearing in the better built walls that held more weight and were far more structured. It was an ancient section of the Auditore crypt, dating back over a century for even Ezio.

Desmond held up his light, studying statues of ancient ancestors long gone. "You know," he said, "when I came here last..."

"When _Ezio_ came here," Lucy said firmly.

"Yeah," Desmond said, looking to her. "I meant Ezio."

Lucy sighed heavily, shaking her head. "I shouldn't put you through this. It's not right."

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said, tapping her chin to make her look at him. "All joking aside, I'm having the time of my life." He wasn't just hiding or sitting in a dark apartment. He was _doing_ something. He was a part of something bigger than just himself. "And it's thanks to you."

Lucy gave a soft smile. "Just focus on where you're going, okay?"

"Right."

So it was back to trekking through the tunnels. The crypt soon gave way back to the mines and there was a chilly dampness starting to cling to the air. Off in the distance, there was a trickling sound.

"Is that..." Lucy asked.

"Yup," Desmond replied, remembering Ezio's escape. "We're near the underground reservoir that fed the well for the citizens."

The trickle of water got louder until at last, they reached a large cavern with interspersed bridges that were collapsed or aged over black mass of water. There were remains of bridges, supports looking solid, but planks breaking and falling apart. Desmond and Lucy glanced at each other wondering if the bridges would support their weight.

"You first," Desmond gestured. Lucy took careful steps, constantly checking her footing as she eased across each bridge. He followed just as carefully once she was across. Overall, crossing the reservoir was slow going, but uneventful.

Overall.

The first bridge had Desmond falling into the freezing water. Once he climbed up to the ledge Lucy had easily crossed at, he shivered. "I _stink_," he grumbled.

"You're exaggerating," Lucy retorted and smiled. "Remember, this is the time of your life," she mocked.

"Yeah, yeah," Desmond groused, but he smiled as well. They both shared a chuckle. Near the upper reaches of the reservoir, they were finally up near a collapsed wall that lead back into the Auditore crypt.

_Ezio! We are on the other side! Hurry!_

Desmond blinked, watching Ezio sawing at a rope, collapsing a bridge with three soldiers on it. He shook off the ghosts and looked again. Lucy spied a small ledge along the wall that they could get their feet on (barely) and they carefully crossed over.

Desmond shuddered once they were across, still damp from his swim in ancient, smelly water that was worse on the nose than the canals of Venice. As he waited, he sat down to pull off his socks and properly wring them out.

Desmond looked up to the heavy stone doors blocking the entrance. "That's how the Borgia got in. That leads into the main Auditore crypt, not one of these subdivisions."

"But it's blocked now," Lucy replied. "We still have to find the way to the Sanctuary."

"Oh, life is full of disappointments," Desmond agreed. "I can't help but wonder why it's blocked now."

"We may never know. Come on."

They continued up the tunnels, Desmond following Ezio's bloodstains and Lucy's problem solving if they came across an obstacle or gap.

"We make a good team," she commented. And for some reason, that just made Desmond's heart warm.

"I can see the Sanctuary up ahead," she pointed. Sure enough, the faint moonlight from outside could be seen pouring through the grating from the back of the Villa and they both headed up, anxious to finally reach their destination.

"About bloody time!" came an annoyed voice above the grate.

But Desmond wasn't listening. His eyes were locked onto another afterimage of a ghost. This was Ezio, but not a wounded Ezio escaping with the villagers and what remained of his family, but an old Ezio with gray hair and years hanging from his face. He must have come back to the Villa long after the attack, but why? And how? The path from the mines was treacherous and hadn't been touched since the escape, as Desmond and Lucy had seen in their passage, and the door from the study was blocked, as Shaun and Rebecca were waiting by. So how did Ezio get here? And _what_ would make him come back to such a horrible place? Even the Auditore Villa in Florence held too much pain for Ezio to visit after the massacre of his family. So why return?

"Desmond!" Lucy called, walking up the stairs to the study.

"Right," Desmond nodded, looking away from the ghost. "Let's open that door."

He followed her, leaving the moonlight for the dark stairs that curved up to the study and came to the bookcase.

Desmond pulled the iron bars locking the bookcase, yanking and chipping at centuries of disuse. From beyond, Shaun's annoyed and impatient voice filtered through. "Can you open the damn bookcase, Desmond?" It took both him and Lucy to finally lift the lower lock, and at last, the book case slid away.

"You guys did it!" Rebecca exclaimed.

"About bloody time," Shaun griped.

_You're welcome,_ Desmond thought to himself. But he shrugged it off.

Still, with the bookcase open, some of the moonlight from outside started to reflect in off the ancient marble that once glittered and the glow-sticks that he and Lucy carried, now brighter with Shaun's and Rebecca's, revealed something on the wall opposite the now moved bookcase as Rebecca darted down to the Sanctuary itself.

"What's that?" Shaun softly asked, raising his glow-stick for a better look.

"Looks like something Ezio left behind," Desmond answered, recognizing his ancestor's hand in the elegant, yet pragmatic strokes. It was a strange triangle, equilateral in shape and subdivided into smaller triangles, and Desmond, as he had several times already, switched to his other sight, his Eagle Vision, to try and see if there was anything else and was surprised to see the dull red glow of old blood. "There are numbers underneath it," he said, "1419, 1420, 1421."

The strain of switching back and forth between his Eagle Vision for the entire evening finally caught up to him, as a pounding headache suddenly blossomed at the back of his head and crawled forward around his temple to his forehead and Desmond couldn't help but reach up and look down, going back to his normal vision.

Lucy was by his side in an instant, holding his arm and looking into his eyes, worried.

"Maybe you should lie down for a bit," she said, reaching up with her glow-stick to get a better look at him.

Desmond took a deep breath, trying to think straight around the sudden thunder in his head, when just as quickly as it arrived, it just disappeared. He blinked again, with no pain, surprised at both the sudden attack and remission.

"Nah," he said quietly, waving Lucy gently aside. "It's all right. I'm fine."

Lucy was about to say something but Rebecca came up, not realizing she was interrupting something. "Whoa," she said in awe in her rough contralto, "they built this place to last. No signs of structural damage. No cell signal either, so we're safe." She gave a bright smile. "Let's get the Animus down there."

Lucy glanced at Desmond, measuring, but Desmond let her. He was fine now and he wasn't going to go back to doing nothing now that he was actually _useful_ and capable.

"All right," she said.

Together, they all headed back out to the truck and started the laborious process of unloading the material they needed. First they needed to set up ramps to wheel boxes down, along with the large orange recliner that the Animus itself was. It took a lot of hefting and heaving and careful maneuvering and Shaun whining incessantly to Rebecca that she needed to redesign the Animus to something more compact if they were going to keep skipping from one safe-house to another. Then it was back to getting all the boxes out of the truck and underground as swiftly as possible.

Once all of their boxes were down in the Sanctuary, came all the set up. Wires stringing from station to station, as Rebecca corrected Shaun, Desmond and Lucy all on which wires went to what computer and could handle what charge and what wattage. Shaun eventually grumbled that enough was enough and pulled out his papers and cork-board to start setting up historical figures Ezio was likely to face in the Animus once Desmond could get back in. That lasted all of ten minutes before Lucy lightly smacked Shaun's head and told him to help with the heavy work, he could mess with his precious ribbons later.

Desmond, who had grown up on the farm and knew the most about roughing it, was assigned to head back down to the underground reservoir and start getting water for treatment to ensure safety for drinking and washing, and setting up where their latrines would be that wouldn't stink up the Sanctuary or contaminate their water. It gave Desmond a chance to explore more without seeing afterimages of Ezio. Once he'd found a good spot that was easy to get to and set up a trail of candles to get there, he went about setting up a small butane stove for cooking, and the various necessities for living down there undiscovered for an unknown period of time.

Lucy kept them all working as a well-oiled machine, pitching in where she thought anyone needed an extra hand and once they were all set up, she slipped out and drove two towns over to find a convenience store and buy some food, since they'd been running low. She returned with a cold dinner, but after all the work they'd been doing, it was appreciated.

It took easily the entire night, but once it was set up, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

All in all, it was a lot of work, and Desmond was looking forward to getting some sleep as the night slipped into early morning.

Shaun was finally setting up his notes on a cork-board (again) and Rebecca was putting a box of tools away when Lucy made her assessment.

"Okay, everything's good," she said, looking around their new base. "Shaun, hide the van in town. And make sure you aren't followed."

"Wait a minute, guys," Rebecca said, coming over. "We need power down here. There's a line running nearby that I can hook into but the wattage is weak." She came over with a small box of devices that Desmond recognized from his days as an Assassin, though they were more up-to-date than what he'd worked with before. They were designed to go into any power box and steal small bits of energy so as not to be noticed as a drain on any one system.

"Yeah, of course," Shaun griped in full sarcastic fury as his cork-board work was interrupted. Again. "Yeah, yeah. Anything else you two would like? You know, some caviar, perhaps? Maybe you'd like me to knit you a lovely hat. No?" he scowled horrendously. "Fine," he acquiesced.

Rebecca rolled her eyes but patted Shaun's cheek affectionately. "Thanks," she said. "You're a peach."

Shaun rolled _his_ eyes and just stalked off.

Desmond lifted the devices. "I promise, you'll get power soon."

The two headed up the ramp, careful of the wires Rebecca had strung along to get the power they needed and headed out into the gardens of the Villa.

"Right," Shaun said with authority. "Look around Monteriggioni for circuit boxes for Rebecca's little doodads," he explained. Desmond let him, not feeling like interrupting when the British historian was being all self-important. "Don't ask me how they work, if I understood that, I wouldn't be the fellow hiding the van."

Desmond chuckled. He _did_ know how they worked, or at least a little, from back when he was being trained to be an Assassin.

They walked around the Villa and down the front steps to the van and split ways. Shaun got into the truck and drove off to hide it while Desmond slipped into the shadows with the ease of knowing Monteriggioni like the back of his hand. It was odd, wandering around and looking for circuit boxes to steal power from. He knew this town so well after living the life of Ezio. He remembered practicing his climbing skills that Federico had taught him the basics of, he remembered racing thieves in heavy armor and still beating them, he remembered talking with the citizens to see what was needed and discussing it with Claudia on what needed financing next.

And he rem_embered looking up to her auntie, Claudia, as she looked around this place for the fir_st time. Desmond shook his head and went back to looking for power. Getting lost in nostalgia would be a bad idea. He'd hate to think how Ezio would react to cars and lights in his beloved home. So Desmond melted into the shadows once more and slipped through alleys and and side streets to find ways to divert the energy they needed.

Desmond was disappointed with how often nostalgia tried to overcome him as he walked the alleys of his ancestral home. He kept switching to Ezio's eyes with a memory from centuries past, like a time early on, before Ezio started fighting as an Assassin, when he took his catatonic mother out for a walk around the poor village to get her some exercise and sun. Or when Ezio had returned injured and Alfeo found him out and about too soon and dragged him back up to the Villa.

These types of memories, he was expecting. After all, over the past week he'd lived two decades of Ezio's life. It was the _other_ bits of nostalgia that freaked him out. There were times when his perspective dropped to that of a wide-eyed child who looked around with wonder at her first visit with Auntie Claudia. These were harder to force down because he wasn't expecting it and it was so _un_familiar, yet nostalgic at the same time. He could only assume that his own wonder at being in a town he'd only seen in memories was digging up the same awe that whoever that girl was felt when she visited.

Freaked him out every time it happened.

The sky was lightening when Desmond fit the last component Rebecca had given him into a circuit breaker and he knew he needed to get going. He couldn't quite tell if his head was pounding or not after facing off with Ezio's memories so much over the course of the night. He certainly felt like a headache was ready to blossom at a moment's notice, but he couldn't really say that it was thundering at that point yet. Desmond slipped into the shadow of a tree, looking around carefully as he could hear signs of people starting to get up and lights slowly coming on in windows. He had to get back. Sleep was sounding very good right about now.

Desmond paused, however, before he went to the next shadow. Standing proud and rusted by the tree was a sword in the ground. A familiar sword.

_Il mio dio, è la spada del Mario!_

Desmond reached forward and pulled the sword out, eyeing the pommel, the hilt, the solid work of Santino, even centuries later, the sword Mario had held at his death. The sword that the villagers left behind must have placed here in their own method of quiet thanks. The sword of Ezio's beloved, dead, Uncle Mar_io. Oh, Mario, my brother, you'll never see out of that eye again. What happe_ned?

Giovanni... _Desmond_ shook his head. Damn, he hadn't been expecting that. He'd had nostalgia of Giovanni as infrequently as the little girl, but because it wasn't Ezio, he was caught off guard again.

He looked to the rusted sword.

Desmond couldn't leave it there.

He just couldn't. This had belonged to a many great-grand-uncle that had been an important person in both Ezio's life, and through Ezio, Desmond. He'd need to clean it, oil it, and remove the rust, but... Desmond couldn't leave the sword here.

He just couldn't.

So he looped it through his belt, feeling the weight of the sword at his side and finding it familiar, if heavier than what he preferred. Mario always did prefer a broadsword to Ezio's blades, which were better for proper fencing.

Yet once he had the sword, Desmond strangely didn't feel nostalgia assault him any more. One would think feeling the weight at his side would make him reminisce back to Ezio all the more, but instead, he was able to navigate the shadows and streets back to the Villa without once fighting back a memory that wasn't his.

Desmond met Shaun at the base of the Villa's stairs.

"Found a memento?" Shaun grumbled sarcastically.

Desmond said nothing for a moment, before pulling out the sword and holding it with a familiarity he shouldn't have and showed it to Shaun. "It was Mario's."

Shaun's bad humor melted to blankness as he looked at the blade more closely. He looked to Desmond and merely nodded. He glanced at Desmond again, and he thought he caught a flicker of worry on the historian's face. But Shaun said nothing on the subject. "Well come on, then. If anyone finds that van after the night I just spent hiding it, we deserve to be caught."

Desmond chuckled.

Shaun proceeded to launch into an extended complaint list of exactly _what_ he'd had to go through to hide the truck, and Desmond tuned him out. They still kept to the shadows and Desmond found himself correcting Shaun's techniques of staying hidden, which just made Shaun grouse and glare at him. When they got to Mario's study and in the pre-dawn light, Desmond's sharp eyes spied something else. He walked to the corner and brushed off centuries of dirt and dust. "Claudia's account book," he muttered, carefully flipping it open and looking at the summary of expenses and accounts that Ezio's sister had so carefully kept track of. Her handwriting was faded, but still clear in the dim light, and Desmond easily read the words, despite the fact that he'd never learned the language. "They were getting ready to expand," he said quietly.

"Expand?" Shaun asked, looking over Desmond's shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, carefully flipping another page. "Claudia never got to tell Ezio how the accounts were, but you can see it. Look at the amount they were saving. The town was thriving, they were probably going to expand. This type of savings, there was a big project in the works."

"Pity we'll never know what," Shaun muttered. "Come along, Desmond. Before the sun actually peaks out at us."

Desmond took the account book with him.

They descended into the Sanctuary and Desmond smiled, seeing lights on and computers starting to boot up.

"I'm back," he said, heading to a shelf to carefully lay out the account book and sword.

Lucy just nodded to him. "Just in time. The sun's rising."

"Yes!" Rebecca shouted. "It's booted. We're good to go!"

"Did you miss me?" Shaun asked, but Rebecca and Lucy were already busy at their computers and Desmond was carefully brushing at the sword to see how bad the rust really was. "No? Anyone? Hello, am I speaking out loud? Hello?" Shaun sighed. "Workaholics."

"Let's get started," Lucy said firmly.

"I think sleep's a better option," Desmond replied. "We've been up and working since yesterday. I think some shut-eye is a good idea."

"And a shower," Shaun muttered, pinching his nose.

"I can run over baby while you all get some sleep," Rebecca offered. "Do some miscellaneous updates, stuff like that."

Lucy was clearly hesitating, looking at her computer and wanting to get things started. "All right. The water we have should be good for a sponge bath. We can worry about laundry more once we've had some proper sleep."

"There's a laundromat in town," Shaun said.

"We'll figure it out when we know supply runs," she replied. "The two of you have done most of the heavy work, you both should wash up and get some sleep. I'll review what we've missed while Rebecca gets the Animus updated. In four hours, we'll get back to work."

"Fair enough," Desmond said, grateful that he'd have a chance to get out of these smelly clothes.

Desmond lead Shaun behind Altair's statue to where the wash area had been set up and both started to strip down to their boxers.

"So," Desmond said, getting a small bowl of water and rubbing the soap in it to get a later, "Do you have any clue about those numbers under the drawing?"

"1419, 1420, 1421," Shaun muttered. "Offhand, maybe something to do with the Hundred Years War. Or wait... In 1419, Pope Martin V arrived in Florence, right? He left for Rome in 1420, and that was the same year Brunelleschi began building the Duomo. And in 1421... in 1421... Yeah, I'll have to do some more research I think." Shaun shrugged. "Not like I've had a chance to really look anything up, have I?"

Desmond had the decency to be a little abashed. Time to change topic. "So what do you think of Monteriggioni?"

Shaun scoffed at him. "This is not Monteriggioni. Monteriggioni existed during the Renaissance. Ask me how the town was in 1554 when it was seized by Florence and I'll tell you."

"Huh. I figured you'd like it nowadays. Seems not to have changed much."

"Exactly," Shaun said crossly. "History is the study of change. Change is life. When things become static, it means they're dead."

Desmond gave up conversation after that.

A fresh change of clothes later, and feeling a bit cleaner, Desmond crawled into his sleeping bag.

* * *

_Bleeding shoulders popp_ed stitches eve_rything was gone gone GONE Malik is dead Sef is dead MARIA is dead CRISTINA IS DEAD there's nothing left there's nothing left how long before Claudia and Maria and Federica are taken too ther_e's no time need to protect them n_eed to protect the __Brotherhood need to protect Ab_bass from destroying himself fire powder explosions hidden treachery where is Malik what _happened to him Mario at the gate looking up and seeing and blood and death so much death Federico Kadar Giov_anni Petruccio Malik Ma_ria Cristina Sef it won't ever stop nothing can end this all over the damned Apple stupid artifact what's its purpose why is it here I understand now the prophet will do his work your name comes up like a distant dream_

_ Desmond..._

* * *

It was almost a relief when Lucy shook him awake.

Four hours wasn't anywhere near enough sleep, but Desmond stretched and got up. He cooked a small breakfast from the food they had with them from the truck and the leftovers of what Lucy had brought, while Shaun went to wash up again. His motions were mechanical, his gaze only half on his work, the rest of it on the dream he had that made utterly no sense. It was like... had he been living memories of both Ezio and Altair? At the same time? Was that even possible, or was it a sign of the Bleeding Effect, of his slow degradation to insanity? He frowned, staring at the cooktop and the bottled water. Shaking his head, he looked up and saw Rebecca and Lucy across the Sanctuary, talking quickly in hushed voices before Lucy hugged the technician tightly, Rebecca slowly returning the gesture. He looked back down to his cooking, not wanting to guess what they were talking about.

Breakfast was quiet, quick, and heavy before everyone disappeared to their stations, Desmond poured himself another cup and stared at the Animus intently. Putting off his slow crack of sanity sounded like a good idea, so he turned away from the damn machine and pursued other thoughts.

Sipping his coffee, Desmond walked over to Lucy. "What are we going to do about Abstergo?"

"Wait it out," Lucy replied, reading something on her screen. "As soon as we find the Apple, I get in contact with our other teams in Europe, but as far as Italy goes, we're on our own."

Shaun came in, rubbing a towel through his hair. "It _would_ be nice to have some help from above."

"Our top Assassins are busy gathering info about the Templar satellite launch. We've pinpointed several possible facilities in the U.S., China, and Russia, but there are no clear leads yet."

Desmond blinked. "What are the other teams doing?"

"Combating Abstergo's search for Pieces of Eden. As far as I know, Abstergo has no clue about the Temples and Ezio's Apple. We might actually be ahead for once." She gave a soft smile. "And it's about damn time."

"Hear, hear," Rebecca cheered before turning back to her laptop.

Desmond sipped his coffee again and went back to the stove, and cooked a little more, including a thick stack of toast that he offered to everyone. Shaun grumbled as he grabbed four slices, Lucy gave a soft smile and took a few for herself.

Rebecca, however, didn't even notice it was being offered.

"You seem focused," Desmond commented startling Rebecca.

The techie gratefully grabbed some toast. "I've been busy patching new systems into Baby here," she explained. "She's only gonna get better," she offered a huge smile, pulling down her headphones. "I've got a virtual training program for you to practice some of the stealthy stuff that we can't set up like we could in the warehouse."

Shaun, in his usual caustic way, referenced the trouble Desmond had with living memories the previous night. "Is Desmond going to be able to relive memories this time?"

"As a matter of fact, he will," Rebecca said with cocky confidence.

Desmond chuckled. "You always been a tech geek?"

"Nah," Rebecca waved it off, munching on her toast. "I was into sports, but then I broke my leg and started playing with computers." She sipped from her cold coffee. "Who knew that coding could be just as exhilarating as strapping on a board and dropping out of a helicopter?"

Desmond smiled, wondering if that skill was why the Assassin's had recruited her or not.

"Just FYI," Shaun interrupted, "you might want to get your adrenal glands checked. You know, because _that_, that is not normal."

Desmond rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wondering if Shaun was related to any little old ladies that butted in on any conversation that didn't involve them. The historian was on a roll that morning. So Desmond ignored the Brit and smiled at Rebecca.

"Do you miss your sports?"

The techie shrugged. "To a point. That was for adrenaline. And this job is _pure_ adrenaline," she smiled. "All adrenaline, all the time."

"Just don't forget to crash from that adrenaline sometimes."

"Not a prob!" Rebecca said brightly. "That's what the tunes are for."

Desmond sat in the orange recliner and Rebecca started hooking him up. "I remembered what you said before about wanting to relive memories. Once you've unlocked them, you can go back and relive it as many times as you want."

Desmond smiled, already thinking of Ezio's initiation into the Order. Still, he couldn't stop the playful quip, "And what if there are memories I just want to forget?"

"Desmond, this is very important," Lucy said. "If you need to take a break, log out of the Animus. You can leave the machine whenever you like."

"I'm all set to go," Desmond reassured her. "Don't worry."

"One last thing," Rebecca said, "as you raise your synchronization by executing events the way Ezio lived them, that memory we're aiming for should keep clearing. Okay, let's get started."

Desmond loaded into the White Room of the Animus, waiting for the history of Italy to load whatever city Ezio would end up in. Desmond wondered if he'd still be at the side of the road, bleeding, or back in Florence, or somewhere else altogether. Ezio had been heading to Rome, but Desmond wasn't sure where he was when he finally collapsed. He looked down, to see he was still in his clothes, not even loaded into the Ezio avatar yet.

"_Desmond,_" Shaun said, interrupting again as he had all morning._ "I've been looking at these gibberish five-digit codes from the end of Subject 16's files and I seem to have discovered a remarkable coincidence._"

"At this point, I'd say there are no coincidences," Desmond replied.

Shaun ignored him."_The codes correspond perfectly with coordinates inside the Animus. I've tagged the landmarks pinpointed by the coordinates. We can guide you to them at any point you're not synching with Ezio._"

"Like with all those glyphs that made that freaky Truth file," Desmond nodded. "Sixteen has another goose chase for us to chase."

"Now,_ odds are you won't find anything there, but well, who knows?_"

"Only one way to find out."

Desmond looked at the White Room, then hissed in pain as he felt the _ache in his shou_lder. He wond_ered what had ha_ppened and _where he was._

* * *

_"By_ God,_ we'll make those bastards pay!"_

_ "We stand together."_

_ "Be careful."_

_ "I will."_

_ "Repay me by looking after my daughter."_

_ "Tell Federica her father died a hero, and tell her it was all so that she could live a happy life."_

_ "Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you differently."_

He awoke crying. A heavy sob wrenching its way up through the darkness and making his face scrunch into hot tears trailing out of his eyes as he _wailed_. Half his family had been ripped from him years ago, and now more had died. How much more could a person bear! Slowly strangling, neck breaking, head smashed, head exploding, sounds of death beyond solid stone. He tried to curl to himself, grief washing over him in wracking sobs and streaming tears. It made his very heart bleed and ache. Then he fell back into darkness again.

The next time he awoke it was again to crying. His whole town, Monteriggioni, devastated. He may not have always been there, but he'd put a great deal of time into overseeing it, making it thrive, lovingly building up what had once been aged and broken, tending to the citizens with care and patience, expanding. Now it was gone as well. Once more, everything had been ripped away from him. And as he started to sob once more, he fell unconscious again.

The next time he woke up, he was more aware of his surroundings. The overwhelming grief of his very _life_ it seemed, was quickly stomped down and shoved to a corner. A woman was tending to him and he needed to ignore his loss and start thinking. He reached up and grabbed her arm.

Or rather, that's what he wanted to do. Just lifting his hand made him suddenly light-headed and he couldn't seem to coordinate himself well enough. But she saw the motion and looked to him.

"Rest, _messere_. You've been through an ordeal and need rest," she said softly. Reaching up she pushed his hair back gently and offered a kind smile. "You're still healing. You need to get stronger first before you start demanding answers."

He frowned, not liking how much she seemed to know of his current state, but he was soon in darkness again.

Waking once more, he felt truly rested. Sore, tender, and uncomfortable, but rested nonetheless.

The woman was sitting by his side on the bed and she was cleaning the wound Rodrigo Borgia had given him a lifetime ago. He mustered his strength again, ready to start getting answers. "Who-" but his voice croaked horribly.

"_Messere_," she said quietly. "A moment please and I'll get you something to drink."

He didn't care for the answer, but trying to form any other words were just indeterminable grunts.

His stomach wound stung horribly from whatever she was doing, but soon she was wrapping clean bandages around him, carefully reaching under him to pull the cloth around and tightening it enough to stay but not hurt.

"Some water?" she asked, and he nodded. It was cold, thank God and he felt every swallow down to his stomach. "I am Margherita dei Campi," she explained softly. "I've been tending to you. If you can, I'd like to get some food in that punctured belly of yours. You need the strength. A man brought you here for help."

"_Grazie_," he replied. "I am-"

"_Messere_, food first."

Ezio only stayed a week in that small house. While Margherita, a countess, was kind and clearly knew something of tending wounds, Ezio did not wish to crowd her in her tiny home. It was a house of poverty despite her rank. Well cared for, but threadbare and mended as best as those with almost nothing could do. He did not wish to be a drain on her no-doubt non-existent budget. She kept feeding him good food, but he never saw her eat anything herself and Ezio could not stand that.

"_Go, my son. __Destroy them... but remember for whom we Assassins fight."_

His mother's words were steady and firm in his heart. The Assassins, for all that Ezio had started to become one out of revenge, fought for the _people_. They fought because the people could not, because the people needed someone to keep them safe. And Ezio doubted tending to him was keeping Margherita safe.

His stomach wound was well on the way to healing. Rodrigo, old man that he was, hadn't done much damage and Altair's armor had diverted and blunted most of the blow. Ezio's shoulder, however, was agony if he even tried to move. But at least he could walk.

Ezio didn't even have any money to give this poor countess to compensate for his stay. He'd left with just the clothes on his back, his hidden blade, and the sword of Altair. Nothing he would dare sell. He'd have to find a banker and get some of his funds from Romeo, if he'd survived the attack on the Villa.

Plans swirling in the back of his head, Ezio prepared to leave. Margherita helped him get dressed, given that his arm was useless with his shoulder, but Ezio refused to stay any longer. The clothes were unexpectedly rich-looking, which surprised Ezio. And all that white, it reminded him of what Arianna had mentioned about a new look for him. Ezio wondered where Margherita could afford such clothes.

"The man who left you here brought them while you were sleeping," the poor countess explained. "He said you wouldn't stay long once you were awake."

Ezio gave a perfect Florentine grin of irony. "Did this man say anything else?"

Margherita gave a coy smile. "Only this: You are to meet _Messer_ Machiavelli in front of the Mausoleo di Augusto."

With clean bandages and fresh clothes, Ezio felt more alive. He took some of the bread Margherita offered, only because his stomach couldn't stop rumbling. With Altair's sword at his side and his hidden blade on his forearm, Ezio finally felt safe, despite his throbbing shoulder. He tested the blades, taking a whetstone to any nicks he saw, of which there were very few. Testimony to the steady craftsmanship of both Altair and Leonardo da Vinci, Ezio's oldest friend.

Margherita walked him downstairs and out the door and, at last, Ezio saw a view of something other than a city wall.

"Ah, Roma," he said softly.

"Yes," she said, looking sadly over the hills through the pillars of the aqueducts. "Or what is left of it since the Borgia came to power."

Ezio frowned. He knew from his last trip through Rome that the people had suffered under the Spaniard's power. Just walking through the streets and seeing nothing but poverty, beggars, and Papal guards intimidating the citizens was proof of it, but Ezio had only been aware of it in abstract, completely focused on getting the Spaniard. Rome was still Rome, after all.

But Margherita's words reminded Ezio of his mother.

"_But remember for whom we Assassins fight_."

He'd been looking at the problem the wrong way. Only thinking that taking down Rodrigo would solve the problem. That was a childish notion. He'd thought the Spaniard living in shame with his power broken would wipe away the Borgia stain. That was idiotic. Change didn't come from the top and trickle down to the people. Change came from the people who could then tackle the top.

The people of Rome had no hope.

Ezio needed to do something. But what? He was in no shape to do much of anything at the moment.

He'd need to think about it. For now, Machiavelli was waiting.

"And the Mausoleo?" he asked, trying to get his bearings.

"Unfortunately, you cannot see it from here."

Ezio looked around and through the pillars of the aqueduct saw a church atop the hill. He had a way to get his bearings.

Turning to his hostess, he bowed as best he could with his side and shoulder, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles. "Thank you very much for everything you have done for me. _Addio, buona donna_."

She was blushing furiously, but merely smiled and nodded. "Best of luck to you, _Messere_."

So Ezio went down the stairs from her home and out into the busy streets. He was clearly on the outskirts of Rome, within areas that had been designated for the farming necessary to feed the massive city. The citizens quickly jostled about from one destination to another, intent on getting to whatever job would actually provide money amongst the poverty of the area. Ezio didn't care for the pace, as he was going much slower and favoring his bad arm. One person almost knocked him over as he ran by, shouting out a hurried apology as he continued to rush.

That didn't stop Ezio from grunting in pain. "My arm, _merda_, my _back_!"

At least his side was able to take the jostling.

As good as the countess was, Ezio knew he was going to have to find a doctor.

Once he oriented himself.

At the church, he explained to the threadbare priest his need to orient himself in the city and if he'd please be so kind as to let Ezio up to the bell tower?

The priest, an ancient man pushing into his eighties and with memory seeming to be failing him, nodded, calling on one of the altar boys to guide Ezio up. The view for the morning was spectacular, Ezio had to admit. The church overlooked the central district of Rome, buildings spread out almost as far as the eye could see. The Castel San'Angelo towered not that far away, with St. Peter's Basilica behind it. To the west and slightly south the Pantheon rose over the buildings by several stories, it's round open rooftop clearly visible with the sun behind Ezio, and almost due south, the massive structure of the Colosseum, standing tall and proud of ancient architects that knew so much more about building than any architects of the modern era.

He turned to the altar boy. "_Grazie_," he said, heading back down. He had a good idea where he was now and could head off in the right direction.

Exiting the church, Ezio started to long walk east and down the hill to find the Mausoleo. It only took an hour to get into the central district where Ezio blended in a bit better. There were still beggars by the score, but the people walking around were no longer the threadbare poor, but the threadbare rich who were wearing last season's clothes with rough stitching on any tears. Ezio frowned heavily at this. How could the Borgia do this to anyone? Just unilaterally take everything from everyone?

Rome was diseased. And as easy as it would be to kill the Spaniard, it wasn't the cure. Much like when Savonarola poisoned Firenze, the people needed to take a hold of their own destiny and fight back. Not just let the Pope walk all over them. Killing Rodrigo would only treat a symptom. It wouldn't cure the city. Such poverty... it did no one any good.

Ezio was bumped into, _again_, and he couldn't quite hold back a cry of pain as his shoulder was hit just right. Already, he could feel bleeding under his bandages.

"I'm sorry!" a young man exclaimed, getting up off the ground. "I'm sorry! I was hurrying and I didn't expect-! I'm sorry!"

Ezio only rolled his eyes as he cradled his arm closer to him and waited for the stabbing pain to subside.

"_Signore_, are you alright?"

Ezio was too busy focusing past his pain to reply.

"Come, _Signore_, I know a good doctor."

"Thank you, but I-"

"No buts," the young man insisted. He all but dragged Ezio down an alley to a side street where there were fewer people and knocked on a plain, unassuming door. Ezio was surprised. Most doctors were calling out their business to get more customers. Glancing around, he saw no signs, no line of customers. How did anyone even know a doctor was here?

The young man by his side smiled at Ezio. "The Borgia are after this doctor," he explained. "He's helping people for free. Other doctors supply him with medicines and such, but he needs to keep a low profile," he explained. "Damned Borgia and their faith-healing. God helps those who help themselves."

Ezio chuckled. A trustworthy doctor. That was good. A contact to start his rebuilding here in Roma.

The door opened a crack and then fully. "Greetings," the doctor said, wearing the waxed robes of his profession and a beaked mask. "I see you gave me another patient, you little brat."

The young man gave an abashed laugh. "I must be going. I hope I get paid today!" And then he was off, running down the streets and running over the only other person passing by, shouting apologies as he got up again.

"Accident prone klutz," the doctor muttered. "Well, come on in. Let's see why you're favoring that arm."

Inside were almost a dozen other people seeking aid. Some coughing, others with infections, but the most common need appeared to be injuries. Beatings the likes of which Ezio had only seen on the battlefield. It made Ezio frown deeper as he realized just how bad it was in Rome, in a way he hadn't noticed the last time he'd rushed through to face down the Pope.

He was brought to a side room where cots had been laid out for some who were in the most desperate need for aid.

"Please," Ezio said, "I merely have a wound reopened. You have others who need your help more than me."

"Just shut up and sit down," the doctor said. "Let me look."

The doctor, who briefly said his name was Dante, pulled off all of Ezio's bandages and examined everything with a thorough professionalism. He dabbed at the wounds gently with clean cloths and then pulled out a needle and thread that he boiled in water, much as Alfeo back in Monteriggioni might. The stitches hurt terribly, but Ezio stayed still with patient practice that this Doctor Dante nodded at.

"The person who did this clearly has some skill, but not all the knowledge of one trained," Dante said as he re-bandaged Ezio. "Most doctors would have suggested leeches, but I've seen no proof of their efficiency."

Ezio liked this doctor even more. Once he'd met Machiavelli, set up what he was going to do from here, Dante would likely be a good man to have on the Assassin payrolls.

Once Ezio could access his accounts...

Later. One step at a time.

"Still," Dante continued, "Someone your age cannot recover from a wound like this with just medicine. You need time. You don't have the strength of the younger generations."

Ezio's like of the doctor immediately evaporated.

"Here," Dante handed over a small bottle. "It will dull the pain. Take a drop before each meal and two drops if something has jarred it. It will heal over time."

"_Grazie_," Ezio muttered. Still, Dante had helped and a drop of that potion did ease the steady ache.

Dante moved to help Ezio to the door, but instead, Ezio walked over and put on some waxed gloves and went to one of the patients who had been waiting for treatment. "A splint for the break and stitching by the eye, yes?" he asked turning to the doctor.

Dante stood there, eyes wide behind his mask, before nodding.

Ezio stayed for an hour or so helping out until the number of patients had dwindled before finally taking his leave. It was all he could do to repay the doctor.

Still...

"'Someone my age.' _Imbecille_."

But Ezio was at last back on his way to meeting Machiavelli.

Back in the crowded streets Ezio started asking directions to the Mausoleo, since he couldn't afford a map. He continued to make his way west, ignoring his rumbling stomach since he had no money at the moment.

He was sitting on a bench when a Borgia guard ran by to another who was lounging in the midday sun, trying to warm up on the cold January day.

"There is a peasant resisting arrest! We will show him how things operate under the Borgia!"

The other guard nodded and followed back the way the first had come.

Ezio frowned heavily again. _Machiavelli can wait_.

He tailed them easily as they knocked over anyone in their way, leaving an easy path for Ezio to follow. It was only two streets over that Ezio heard the fighting and swiftly caught up with the two he'd been following. It was easy to kill both silently with his hidden blade before they made it to the scuffle. Neither had expected it and Ezio, injured as he was, still had the muscle memory to do this swiftly and precisely. Walking calmly away from the guards who were still stumbling to their deaths, he followed his ears to where two other Borgia were pulling a man who was clinging to a gallows platform where a woman was hanging. The man had picked up a dagger from somewhere and was using it to great effect blocking Borgia swords. But the man was obviously thin from hunger and the Borgia were stronger and meaner. So Ezio stepped in.

His hidden blade buried itself into the back of one of the guards and once the other realized that something was wrong and had turned, the thin man stabbed _him_ in the back before Ezio could even pull out his sword. Around them the townspeople cheered and Ezio quickly looted the bodies, giving half the money to the man who was at the gallows once more, praying for the woman who swayed in a cold breeze. The man didn't even pay attention to the money. He just sobbed and sobbed.

Ezio was reminded keenly of his own sobbing earlier that week. And he was reminded of another memory even further back, of gallows and people hanging from them. He put a hand on the man's shoulder. "She was beautiful," he said quietly.

"She was..." the man sobbed. "Until that _porco_ defiled her! I wish he'd just killed her!" he sobbed again, his anger giving way to grief. He shouted, "I wish he'd just killed my beloved! Just killed her, not raped her!" he broke down to sobs again. "People who saw her grow up _cheered_ when he spat on her! Smiles on their faces when her neck..."

Ezio could picture it all too well. "I understand."

"How can you?" The man shouted, pulling away from the hand on his shoulder. "My Livia was innocent!"

Ezio looked up to the hanging body and the cold breeze that stirred it. "I have lost family to the rope... to treachery," he said quietly. "The grief and anger stays a long time. But living as your family would have wanted, that is the hardest part of all."

The thin man sobbed again. "Il Carnefice watches from his home on the hill above," he said, sidestepping the grief they were both sharing in. "He threatens to hang me if I cut her rope."

Ezio knelt by the man, ignoring the twinge on his shoulder. "When you are ready, take her down. I will deal with Il Carnefice."

"Like anyone can," the man wailed. "Who are you to stand up to the Borgia?"

"Just a man who won't let this happen any longer."

It took an hour to find the roads that led up to the hill where Ezio had just barely spotted the home the grieving man had mentioned and he crept along carefully. It was early afternoon in broad daylight and he was still injured. He'd have to handle this carefully. Ezio trusted his Eagle Vision, looking for the flicker of gold that would be who he sought. Along the ground, hints of a trail seemed to shine and fade. Ezio had never seen a trail with his other sight before, but he wouldn't discount it now. So he followed when he saw such flickers, finding his way up to the home he'd sought.

Around the corner of a building, Ezio heard voices, and carefully slipped into the shadows and eased his way around.

"Nice work down there," a Borgia soldier was saying.

A huge, hulking man in blood-spattered clothing and an executioner's ax shrugged. "Not my best," he said, pulling his executioner's mask back from where it had been dropping into his eyesight, "but it's hard to make art with poor materials."

The Borgia smiled. "Then we'd best find some better stock."

The executioner grinned and it was not a pretty sight. "Yes. You'd best do that."

The Borgia gave another knowing grin and left. As the executioner turned to head back into his house, Ezio slipped forward on silent boots and let his hidden blade taste the foul blood of this hated man. "_Requiescat in pace_," he said, easing the executioner down.

The man gurgled blood, staring up at Ezio hatefully, but Ezio closed his eyes as he took his last breath. He took more money off the executioner, a substantial amount from the Borgia, no doubt, and went into the house for some food to ease his hunger. But he did not stay long before he disappeared into the streets of Rome again, once again heading for the Mausoleo Di Augusto.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Happy 4th of July everybody! It may not technically be a Friday, but we couldn't wait any lnoger to put this up. And so we continue with AC:Brothehood novelization!

We hope this assuages the many (many, many) people who PM'ed us with questions of when the fic would be put up - and then when it would be updated. Many readers had many questions and many suggestions and many comments. We'll address them as we can over the course of the fic but there are a few things that should be noted right now:

To the several people who wanted us to include their OCs: We appreciate your desire to see them written by us, but that did not happen. More will be explained when we get to all the apprentices, but the fact of the matter is it's difficult enough to novelize these fic because they are utilizing someone else's content. Adding a third (fourth, fifth, and sixth) would be impractical and frankly impossible.

Given that we're dealing with papal politics, huge political figure Machiavelli, philosopher Ezio, and Claudia (_especially _Claudia), we hesitantly point out that there will be certain political views expressed over the course of this fic. Please remember that this is a fic. Claudia and her arc, especially, ran away from us, but more on that in later chapters.

Because of the huge bulk of extras that are in the AC games from this point onward, there just isn't enough room to fit it into a narrative format, nor does some of it "work" in the context of the narrative. Certain memories were cut because of this - most notably the Lairs of Romulus and Leonardo's War Machines. More on them, also, in later chapters.

Updates will be every Friday, as always.

So: Next chapter. Machiavelli. I'm sure this will be a nice, calm, _friendly_ conversation.


	3. Rock Bottom

**Part Three: Rock Bottom**

It was midday when he finally arrived. A circular building like the famous Colosseum, it used to be owned by the famous Colonna family in the Middle Ages; more recently it had been converted to part of the Castel Sant'Angelo; and Ezio lifted his head to gaze at the enormous walls, and the signs of a tree growing out of the central skylight. Walking around the building, he soon found Machiavelli, standing at a magnificent view of Borgia's precious Castello. He rolled his shoulder slightly – as it would allow, and touched the enigmatic man on the shoulder.

Dressed in Roman finery, Machiavelli turned and gave the oddest look to the injured assassin.

"Ezio," he said slowly, looking him up and down, "What a surprise to see you here."

Ezio, in turn, frowned. "I thought you had sent for me?" Had the countess told him wrong?

Machiavelli shook his head. "Never. News of the Villa attack has spread across the city. We were certain that you were dead, Borgia himself was rumored to be celebrating with his lovers."

"Not yet," Ezio replied, a black grin on his face. "I am still very much alive."

"The Borgia must not discover that you escaped them. Follow me. Take care not to draw any undue attention."

Ezio snorted. "When do I ever?" he asked.

His response was a raised eyebrow. "I seem to recall a few incidents in Firenze with Savonarola that were anything but quiet," Machiavelli said. "A public burning comes to mind. And before that was a fight in Venezia with the Cardinal-Deacon, and before that the death of a Doge, and before that-"

"Enough," Ezio said in a low voice. Machiavelli, as always, was a dour, complicated man who wasn't shy about speaking his mind. There were days Ezio wondered how the man _ever_ became second chancellor to Florence after the Medici were chased out, let alone a diplomat for the city of his birth, let _alone_ considered skilled enough to be sent to Rome. He did not mince his words and, when not pleased, went off to do what he thought best on his own. Moody and opinionated, it was not uncommon for Machiavelli to be on the wrong end of an argument with anyone – Ezio and even Mario were no exception.

Mario...

"_We stand together."_

Ezio shook his head, refusing the let the grief overwhelm him. That was private.

"You would be wise to purchase missing equipment. You will not live long in Roma without supplies."

Walking down a series of arch-covered steps, they turned a corner and Ezio smirked, lifting his wrist slightly.

"I have my blade."

Machiavelli snorted in turn and told the black truth. "And the guards have their guns, courtesy of the Borgia." Ezio winced, reaching up and touching his shoulder. The advantage of his hidden gun was now a thing of the past, it seemed. Still not mincing his words, the diplomat added, "Fortunately, I can help you."

Machiavelli brusquely handed him a pouch full of florins, and Ezio pursed his lips, knowing the executioner he had looted earlier had not given him enough. Growling at the idea of being indebted, he grabbed the pouch and offered a low, "_Grazie._"

"While you are in my debt, perhaps you will listen to reason."

Ezio's response was not _quite_ as coy: "As soon as I hear some, I will let you know."

The pair walked into a nearby smithy, explaining their needs. The smith looked Ezio up and down appraisingly before selecting appropriate wares. The fine clothes both men wore made the smith pick out equally fine armor, and Ezio quickly realized no amount of haggling was going to bring down the prices low enough to make them affordable. He asked instead for simple leather fair, and the smith openly growled.

"I see the nobility are as cheap as ever," he growled. "Heaven forbid you spread the wealth to the people who desperately need it, no, much better to _look_ the part with your fancy silks and-" he reached out to grab at Ezio's clothes, and the yank to his bad arm sent him hissing and cringing away.

"_Merda,_" he cursed.

"... It would seem you did not escape the Villa attack without injury," Machiavelli said slowly.

"It was only a minor scratch," Ezio said with ironic tones. He turned back to the smith. "Everything was stolen from me, save the clothes on my back. Show me leather armor; anything to give me protection for my shoulder until it is healed."

The smith seemed only slightly more sympathetic, finally pulling out the cheaper leather, and the two haggled bitterly before settling on a price. Ezio left with a pair of spaulders on his shoulders and a knife that he quickly hid in his boot. His purse was once again empty, but now he walked back out in the street feeling safer now that there were two hidden weapons on him. He rolled his bad shoulder, trying to stretch it, but the pain was still too strong. Machiavelli watched him with a distant face before taking a deep breath.

"_Bene_. Now you can survive the journey back to Firenze."

Ezio looked at the younger man, frowning, before shaking his head. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "But I am not going to Firenze."

Machiavelli's head snapped to the assassin. "Oh?" he asked, incredulous.

Ezio explained: "There will be no peace until we rise up against the entire Borgia family and the Templars who serve them."

The Florentine diplomat openly frowned, suspicious. "I do not recall such brave talk at Monteriggioni."

Buildings on fire. Ramparts collapsing. Mercenaries dying. Ulderico... _Mario_... The bloodied piece of flying ear and sounds of death, cannon fire, the smell of powder, screams and death throws, churned meat, the frantic escape, trying to buy time, the main gate blowing open...

_"So consider this an invitation, from my family, to yours!"_

"The shame of his defeat was to ruin him," Ezio said, his voice low and shaky. "How could I have known that they would find me so quickly? That they would..." he swallowed, "...kill _Zio _Mario?"

"You _should_ have known," Machiavelli said.

"... In that, you are right."

Machiavelli frowned, clearly not expecting the ascent. His eyes studied Ezio carefully, but the master assassin was looking at his memory: Mario spotting him before he was shot, Ulderico's final farewell to Claudia, the treacherous journey through the mines; grief was welling up in him, his hands were shaking, slightly. The smiths, Marco and Carlo, did they escape? Or Vincenzo, or Arianna and her brother Doriano, Romeo... anyone? Had his hubris failed everyone?

Was he...

Was he alone now?

But no, he was not alone, not any more. He had the Brotherhood: Machiavelli, Paola and Volpe, Teodora and Antonio, Bartolomeo. He was supported by so many people, he could not lose himself to his sadness, nor could he turn it to anger, as he had done as a boy. He had to stay strong, for Claudia and Federica and Mother, for his father and brothers, and now his uncle and brother-in-law. He was wrong to think that Borgia would slink away quietly into the night, but he would not make that mistake again; and he would not do as he had done that day. He would not kill for self-gratification, revenge over the losses, hoping it would change the people. Ezio looked out to the crowds as they walked, their threadbare clothes, their downcast faces, their frowns and complaints and poverty and degradation.

_"B__ut remember for whom we Assassins fight."_

… Yes. He could do this.

He was not alone.

He never would be again.

He looked to his companion. "Where are we going?"

"Campidoglio. I am meeting a contact there."

That far south? Walking would take hours.

"Should we not travel by horse? Roma is quite large."

"As Cesare's conquests in Romagna continue to succeed and the Borgia grow in power they have taken desirable areas of the city for themselves. We cannot use the stables here or anywhere; everything is under conscription."

"Oh," Ezio said with his Florentine irony, "the will of the Borgia is law now?"

"What are you implying Ezio?"

"Do not play dumb with me, Machiavelli," Ezio said, becoming irritated. "Savonarola was in a similar state of power, and look what happened to _him_."

"Yes, I believe I already mentioned that public burning. You excel at opening wounds, Ezio, but can you also close them?"

"It is not wounds of which we speak, but a deep sickness," Ezio clarified. "I intend to heal the sickness, not treat its symptoms."

Now Machiavelli was impatient. "Stop sparring with me."

"Fine. Let us talk openly then. Rodrigo Borgia's death would not have solved anything." If the Pope had been killed in December, the other men in power would have been just as corrupt, just as conniving, just as vicious as their benefactor. The people would still be squeezed for everything they were worth, abuse would be everywhere, that woman would still have been hanged, and the executioner would still have been babbling about the artistry of his task. No, nothing would have changed, nothing would have been solved.

"I am inclined to disagree."

Ezio shook his head, gesturing out to the crowds, the throngs of beggars lining the corners and squares, the monks praying benedictions and unable to do anything else, the children crying for parents that were more likely than not dead, the stench of feces and depression. "Look at this city, the center of Borgia and Templar rule. Killing one man will not change things. It would not change _this_. We need to take away the source of their power."

"Are you suggesting we appeal to the people?"

Ezio came up short, blinking in surprise. He knew he had to help the people, but he had no idea how. Where did one even start? He shrugged his good shoulder. "Maybe." He needed to think on it.

Machiavelli shook his head, a burst of air exiting his lungs. "Relying on the people is like building on the sand," he scolded.

"No. You are wrong. Our belief in humanity rests at the heart of the Assassin Brotherhood."

"Humanity, yes; people, no. People are idiots, craving to be told what to do. We offer them freedom, and they squander it without thought to consequence; it is _because _of the people that men like Borgia keep rising to power."

"Then what would you do? What would you propose that would keep 'men like Borgia' from rising? How would you deal with the destitution that is rampant in Roma, and Romagna and Venezia and everywhere else? Would you kill them as they come, or would you rather stop it at its source?"

"This is not a debate in philosophy," Machiavelli quipped.

"Perhaps it _should _ be, since you don't seem to have much faith in the very Creed that makes you an Assassin."

Quite suddenly a slip of a man bumped into the both of them, Ezio's shoulder jarring painfully, and disappeared into the crowds. Ezio knew a thief when he saw one – he had lived with them for eight years in Venezia and learned from the best – and he knew his meager purse had been lifted.

Machiavelli openly laughed. "He must be from your inner circle," he said, smirking. "Go. Get back what he has stolen. You know where I go."

Sighing, Ezio took a deep breath, drawing up energy from somewhere. He could not climb, and if the thief took to the roofs this was going to be a painfully short chase, but his legs were still about him, and even weakened as he was, he was strong enough – therefore _fast_ enough, to do this. He asked his eagle for help, and with a flicker of gold he took off down the street and up an alley, bursting onto a massive plaza, and finding the slip of a man darting along its edge.

Taking a deep breath, he bellowed: "Give me back my money! Come back here!" People, as he expected, immediately looked up, seeing an intent man running through the square, and parted to give him room, making him faster. The thief made a mad dash to the far side of the square, and Ezio watched him duck down an alley. Hot in pursuit, he saw the man take no advantage of the crates and beams to take him up higher. An amateur, then, one likely desperate for money and pushed to an unfamiliar profession.

He was also ridiculously slow.

Ezio closed the distance between them and leapt up without thought, forcing the man down and landing on him to cushion the fall. If being bumped into jarred his shoulder, however, landing made it _unbearable,_ and he couldn't stop the pained grunt, his entire body tensing. The exertion of the run had left him suddenly exhausted, the aches in his back had returned, and his arm, _his arm_.

It was several moments before he could pull himself together enough to realize he had his hidden blade extended and pressed dangerously into the would-be thief's neck, the man utterly paralyzed in terror. "Why did you take my money?" he demanded, his voice rough and thready. The man had no sense of Ezio's pain, however, and quickly started babbling.

"Please, _please_! I'm sorry, _Messere_, I'm sorry! My wife is sick and with child, there are no doctors to be found! I didn't know what more I could do! Don't kill me, please, I need to look after her!"

This level of terror would not produce a lie, and Ezio nodded, making the slow, deliberate motions of pulling his blade away and standing up. The man cried on the dirt and cobblestones, sniveling and whimpering, before he was able to pull himself up.

"There is a doctor, northeast of here, near the city wall," Ezio said. "He is hunted by the Borgia, but he will treat your wife."

The man's eyes doubled in size, becoming almost comically large. "Is... is this true?"

"He treated me just this morning," Ezio said, nodding his head in affirmation.

"... I cannot believe this... Thank you! Thank you _Messere_!"

Ezio kept his face hard. "Get out of here before I regret sparing your life."

"I will! I will! _Grazie, grazie Messere_!"

The man darted away again, this time a noticeable spring in his step; a jovial ray of sunshine in the dark overcast that held the citizenry in thrall.

… Could it be that simple? Did Ezio only need to help people, dispense favors? His first benefactor, Lorenzo de' Medici, had performed similarly, and he was loved by the people of Florence. He handed out favors left and right, accepting whatever payment came to him – money or chickens or foodstuffs or otherwise. Could Ezio follow a similar format? He thought of Savonarola, of slowly destroying his lieutenants, and the people as they felt safe enough to voice their true thoughts, the challenge of a Trial by Fire. He thought of the burning at the stake, too, and the people begging direction.

… No, he couldn't be as open as Lorenzo de' Medici, and he had to be more hidden than he had in Florence. Was there a middle ground...?

He needed to think on it.

But still. He watched the man bump into more people, skipping down the street as he dashed home.

Ideas began to bloom in Ezio's mind, and he found himself grinning, slightly, as he turned back south.

* * *

The Capitoline Hill, or Il Campidoglio, was one of the seven hills of Rome, and the seat of the city's government; the equivalent to Florence's Palazzo della Signoria, or other _palazzo comunale_ in Italy. Several _palazzos_ existed for the Senate and other offices. Machiavelli was at another vista, this time looking southeast and the Colosseum in the distance, standing by a pair of horses he had apparently procured. Ezio looked in askance but the complicated man said nothing, instead simply mounting and asking, "Did you liberate your money from our friend?"

"... I did."

"A small victory."

He thought of the man's sheer gratitude when all was said and done. Yes, it was just a small victory, but... "They add up. And in time, with work, we'll have a few dozen more."

Machiavelli snorted. "And in time, Borgia's gaze will return to us and we'll be broken again. Time is not in our favor, Ezio, and what you propose would take an eternity."

Digging his heels into the flank, Machiavelli pushed his horse into a canter, leaving Ezio to struggle onto his mount with his bad shoulder and catch up. Damn the man for being so brusque!

The tall buildings of the city slowly faded away to the hills, heading further south and east. More beggars lined the road; men and women, shoeless and patched, shuffling to the city.

"Rodrigo surrounds himself with snakes and murderers," Machiavelli said slowly, his eyes darting up and down the road. "Even his daughter Lucrezia has been sharpened into one of his most artful weapons. She was engaged no less than three times before Borgia finally settled on Giovanni Sforza back in '93."

"I remember the stories, the wedding was a scandal."

"_Si_. Four years later, rumors are flying that the Borgia wanted Sforza dead – which Borgia is anyone's guess, but my money is on Lucrezia and her brother. Sforza accused Lucrezia of incest, the Pope said the marriage was never consummated, and yet she was pregnant while waiting out the divorce. Sforza eventually signed impotence papers and the divorce happened." Machiavelli's voice was filled with contempt. "Six months later Borgia married her off again – to her brother-in-law, but required she stay in Roma. Their marriage of course had not been consummated, but her virginity is anything but intact; she has a son by him – at least everyone assumes it's by him – but the boy is sickly and won't live long. And this is to say nothing of the games she plays with the men she beds. Last year, the husband was conveniently attacked on the steps to St. Peter's Basilica. He survived, but his recovery took place in a Borgia tower, where he was strangled a month later. Conveniently.

"But she pales in comparison to the man behind the Villa attack," he said, his voice changing. "He is ambitious, ruthless and cruel beyond imagining, the laws of men mean nothing to him. He murdered his own brother to take power. He knows neither danger nor fatigue. Those who do not fall by his sword clamor to join his ranks. The powerful Orsini and Colonna families have been brought to kneel at his feet and the King of France stands at his side." Machiavelli's eyes were bright, his voice richer, quieter; Ezio frowned, trying to find the name to that tone of voice.

"Give me his name," Ezio said in a low voice, steering his horse around a corpse on the road.

"Cesare, head of the Papal armies. He killed his brother Giovanni so he could take his position as head of the Papal armies; rumors were also rampant at the time that they were both sleeping with their sister-in-law. Two years ago he became the first man in history to resign from the cardinalate, and a year later was named head of the Papal armies – and he has only just gotten started. What does he intend to do with this power? What drives the man? That I still do not know. But, Ezio, Cesare has set his sights on all of Italia, and at this rate he will have it."

"... Is that admiration I hear in your voice?" Ezio asked in a low voice, his rich baritone suspicious.

Machiavelli shrugged. "He knows how to exercise his will. A rare virtue in the world today, given the people that live in it," he added, throwing a look to the master assassin. "He understands better than anyone that 'everything is permitted,' he would make a good Assassin, in some respects."

The man who attacked Monteriggioni? The man who kill _Mario_? Make a _good Assassin?_

"Bite your tongue," Ezio growled, his rich baritone low and menacing.

"No," Machiavelli replied, "If you really intend to take down the family, then you need to know everything about them; it was your lack of knowledge of them that has brought you to this point and I should think you do not want to be caught off guard again."

"And you think you know everything there is to know about these _bastardi_?"

"I obviously know more than _you_," Machiavelli replied. "I forwarded report after report to Mario, God rest his soul, warning him of the Borgia and his idea of a response was that frenzied attack the two of you pulled off; and now we both know what happens when you _let them live._"

"Killing the Borgia would have solved _nothing,_" Ezio insisted, "I already told you that. Should I have killed him in that moment? Maybe, but it would not have fixed the fundamental problem. I am more than willing to admit to my mistakes, Machiavelli, but _you_ are not the end all be all of the Assassins."

"No, I'm just the man who saw what was coming and was not listened to."

"Just because you think you are right-"

"I _was_ right, or have you forgotten?"

"So you really think you know everything?"

"_I know enough,_" Machiavelli hissed, patience at last at an end. The two of them glared at each other, wills battling, before the diplomat abruptly turned away and changed the subject. "Now, where is my contact, Vincio? He should have already intercepted the letter... Follow me."

Caught off guard by the sudden diversion, Ezio blinked before kicking his horse back into gate. Neither man spoke, both seeking to cool their heads. They would have to revisit this argument, but both of them knew there were too few Assassins after the attack to quarrel with each other. If... If Machiavelli was going to go off and do whatever he thought best, then Ezio resolved that he would do the same. Perhaps... if they took different branches... they would end up in the same place. He nodded to himself, more ideas filtering through his head. How to get started...?

They rode even further down the road, past the beggars and the stricken and around a curve and under an arch. It was not long before Machiavelli spoke again, gesturing up the hill to the Campidoglio. "Look at these facades masquerading as government. The Pope is very clever to keep this place in business. It fools your friends the people quite easily."

Oh, for... "When did you become so cynical?" he asked.

"I merely describe the reality of Roma today," the diplomat retorted. "But all may not be lost. The good news is that we have allies in the city. How much longer this will last, however, I cannot say."

"And what does that mean?"

But Machiavelli said nothing, glancing at Ezio and pushing his horse further front. The master assassin frowned, uncertain what the diplomat was hiding, and the lack of forthrightness from _Machiavelli_ was troubling. Shoulder throbbing, he nudged his mount to pull level again and demand more. Machiavelli shushed him before he even opened his mouth, raising his hand for silence and pulling his horse to a halt. Pointing, Ezio followed his companion's gaze to see three guards accosting a man – dressed as a thief if Ezio didn't miss his guess.

"He was attempting to steal official Vatican mail."

"_Perdonatemi, Signore_," the thief, Vincio said quickly, squirming under knifepoint. "You must be mistaken."

"Who are you working for, thief?" the second guard demanded.

A small squeak, and then, "I am working for no one."

The third guard openly grinned. "Then no one will care what we do to you."

Ezio exchanged a glance with Machiavelli before they simultaneously spurred their horses into a trot, leaping over a hill and descending upon the three guards. The distraction gave the thief the chance to slip out of the first guard's grip, and Machiavelli drew his sword, swinging down viciously at one of the guards. Ezio extended his hidden blade, leaping from his horse with ease and landing on a second guard, driving his blade into the soft tissues of the neck and remembering – again – that that was a decidedly _bad idea_. He rolled off the corpse with a groan, clutching his injured shoulder before remembering the potion the doctor had given him. Fishing it out of his pouch, he put two drops on his tongue and grimaced as he swallowed it. The taste!

Getting to his feet, he found the third guard already dead.

"_Grazie!_" Vincio was saying, bowing repeatedly at Machiavelli.

"Where is it?"

"Here, _Messere_!"

"Excellent, you know where to go next."

The thief quickly departed while Ezio broke the seal and opened the letter. He turned to his companion. "I hope you can break a cipher," he said, handing it over.

Machiavelli's face went from proud to disapproving, snatching the letter and looking at the long string of numbers. "_Cazzo_," he cursed, "another encryption. This one was supposed to be legible. They are transmitting them using a code sheet. Without it, we have nothing."

Ezio tried to offer solace. "Sometimes logic is not the only way to win a war. _Andiamo._ You said we had allies in this city, bring me to them."

"Yes, I... wait, what is this on the back?"

Ezio studied the lines, his eyes taking in the shapes quickly. "A map? To where?"

"Wait, this is Il Colosseo. Then this is... The Terme. I know where to go. Come, I will show you where our allies are later; I do not want to miss this lead."

"_Bene,_ then let us depart."

The two took to their horses again, Ezio once more careful with his shoulder; the throbbing had yet to stop. It was midafternoon, now, they had been riding for two hours, and Ezio wanted to eat badly. Machiavelli took pity on him and bought a loaf of bread that he ate in the saddle; his stomach thanking him for the nutrients.

Eventually they reached the Terme di Traiano, the baths of Traiano. Built by the Romans, it was rumored to be placed over the Golden Palace of Nero and, poetically, used by common citizenry. After the Gothic siege in 537, however, many of the aqueducts were ruined, leaving the old baths abandoned and left to rot. The structure seemed to spread infinitely, all arches and half-ruined columns and deep shadows as the sun sank low into the sky. Machiavelli reigned in his horse, looking around and studying the roughly drawn sketch. Howls could be heard in the distance.

Through the pillars, Ezio and Machiavelli saw a trader's wagon rolling along suddenly get swarmed by easily ten men dressed as wolves. The trader and his teamster screamed and Ezio was already spurring his horse forward. "Come on!"

But navigating the collapsed columns and broken baths was a maze, leading either to sharp edges of what was once a several story building or down to dead-end wells. When they finally arrived, the trader was cradling a broken arm and the teamster was dead, the wagon empty.

"Are you alright?" Ezio asked, leaping off his horse and checking over the trader. "Where did those murderers come from?"

"I don't know," the trader hissed as Ezio carefully pulled at the arm, assessing as gently and as carefully as he could. "Those damn Followers of Romulus! Following those foul old gods of paganism! There's only one God! Oh, my trade! Now I'll have even less for my family!"

The man kept wailing as the shock of what had happened sank in.

Ezio pitied the doctor Dante and all the people he was sending his way. "There is a doctor who will treat you for free," Ezio said quietly, giving directions. Machiavelli dragged the teamster to the back of the wagon, covering him with a leftover blanket from the wagon, since neither Ezio with his bad shoulder, nor the trader with his broken arm would have been able to.

Once the trader was on his way, Ezio frowned, as was becoming his habit it seemed. "That map led us to an attack by these Romulus followers," he said, as things slid into place.

Machiavelli nodded. "This band of false-pagans has been terrorizing the city for months and driving people into the arms of the Church," he stated, brushing off imagined dirt from his clothes.

"Quite convenient," Ezio said with great irony.

"Exactly!" Machiavelli growled. "I believe the Borgia are supporting them, but proof remains scarce."

"I think we just received our proof."

"Indeed."

The sun was sinking lower and lower and Ezio was getting hungry again. Some pieces of bread over the day did not truly replace a proper meal. And his stomach proclaimed it.

Machiavelli said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow. Ezio stared back and raised an eyebrow of his own.

The Florentine diplomat sighed. "Follow me." Ezio nodded and mounted again. They wove through the Terme's ancient baths once more, Machiavelli checking his position constantly, until they came to an ancient, worn-looking door.

"We recently began traveling through the tunnels to avoid the guards," Machiavelli explained, "but many of the entrances in the city are broken. By using them, we can get to our destination rapidly without encountering resistance." From inside his finery he pulled out an old map and, dismounting, they entered the underground tunnels. A candle was near the entrance and Machiavelli took a flint to it, giving them light. The tunnel was barely tall enough for the horses, and the beasts were looking around anxiously. A small trickle of water ran along the bottom of the tunnel and the noises of the busy city, prevalent even in the Terme above them, faded to nothing.

Still, Ezio was impressed with the good time they made through the tunnels in reaching the central district of Rome once again. Machiavelli paid an orphan to take the horses back to wherever the diplomat had procured them and then took Ezio to a proper tavern for a good meal.

Or as good a meal as possible in a city being squeezed to death by the Borgia.

But Ezio didn't mind in the least. He ate his fill and while not as good as what the cooks back at Monteriggioni could produce, he'd been to far worse establishments over the years (Venice and its salted bread ranking among the worst; though, he was discovering saltless bread was a distinctly Tuscan delicacy).

He and Machiavelli didn't talk much during their meal. Ezio was too busy just enjoying having something to eat where he hadn't had much the past week and letting the plans that had been swirling in his head start coalescing from its percolation into a more steady direction.

First thing was first. He needed money more than anything else. Having nothing would get him nowhere fast. And while he could pickpocket quite well (though miles away from as well as Rosa, Ugo, Antonio could, and even further from Volpe), that wouldn't further what Ezio wanted to do here in Roma.

Sitting back after his meal, sipping the slightly sour wine, Ezio looked to the diplomat. "Do you have a banker you trust?"

Machiavelli blinked. "Oh?"

"A banker?" Ezio repeated. "Here in Roma. I need access to my funds in order to get started on things here."

Machiavelli stared flatly down his nose to Ezio. "The Borgia seized all assets of Monteriggioni," he said. "I'd have thought that would be obvious."

Ezio laughed. "Then you've never truly worked with a banker's son before." He'd worked closely Alder, the German banker he'd used in Monteriggioni who'd been loyal to the Auditore for years. The old codger had agreed after Ezio's family had been wiped out and had their assets seized by the Pazzi and Florence due to their fictitious betrayal, that Ezio would need to keep his money hidden and off the records. Alders primary job in Monteriggioni was two books. One keeping track of the funds of Monteriggioni itself, which Claudia used for improvements and upgrades and refittings, and one for the Assassins. Money flowed freely between both and Alder took it as a great challenge to keep everything appropriately hidden and clean in case of auditing. His protégé Romeo, who'd taken over after Alder's death, was just as good, and Ezio knew that if Romeo was still alive, he'd come as soon as he saw this account being used.

But he had to access it first, and Ezio needed a contact here in Roma to do so.

Machiavelli raised a brow in his usual arrogant manner. "And what do you need a banker for?"

Ezio chuckled. "Let me worry about that. I'll just say that I have some ideas that will need some funding."

The diplomat's usual dour face frowned even further. "There is a banker near the place we are heading. I located him there myself and he is very trustworthy. Matteo will service whatever these needs of yours will be."

"I'll speak to him tomorrow then."

Machiavelli only nodded. "Well then, we need to get going. Being out after dark with Borgia guards congesting the city is not the best of ideas."

Ezio agreed, feeling the best he had since that morning. The sun was deep in the sky, with city lamp-lighters working hard with the winter's early evening. The two Assassins started walking the streets again and Ezio looked about, noting how the streets were slowly emptying, how the Borgia patrols were so numerous.

"Ezio, this way."

Turning, the Florentine Assassin looked to the alley leading to a side street. "And why are we not using this street? It's full of people and easy to blend with the throngs."

Machiavelli looked up. "A Borgia tower, the center point of their control in this area. I might be immune to suspicion, being part of the Papal Court, but you are not."

Looking around to the disparate people, many begging and attempting to hide from the patrols, Ezio frowned.

"The Borgia do not dictate the conditions of our lives down to where we even walk," he said calmly. "It's time people realize that the Borgia are not invincible."

"This again," Machiavelli sighed. "The people will never stand up to the Borgia."

Ezio smiled. "They only need some inspiration."

The diplomat scoffed. "Do you have some kind of a plan?"

"I am improvising." Ezio looked around the streets again. "We need to send a signal. Wait here."

The tower had a small staging area by it, with an entrance to a tiny courtyard being guarded by four Borgia trying to look intimidating. And while to the average person on the street, they were, Ezio had faced much, much worse. To him, they were merely children attempting to play at being strong. Behind them, in the courtyard, a captain with a feathered helmet and dark cape was inspecting a small group of what had to be recruits given their nervous shaking.

This would be child's play.

Ezio sat on a bench, checking his hidden blade and looking at the poison blade attached, the only addition to his blade he still had after Monteriggioni. Looking at the patterns of the crowds, he easily picked out a pair of Borgia guards and eased behind them. He bumped one, his poison blade diving into the soft side of the rushing guard, and he walked away. The poison did not take long, the last dose he had from when he'd last loaded it before Monteriggioni had fallen, and the guard started spasming in the street. His partner turned, surprised, and tried to calm him, only to get slugged as a response. The four guards at the entrance to the courtyard rushed forward to try and subdue the flailing guard.

_Perfect_.

Inside the courtyard, the captain had violently dismissed his recruits, all of whom scurried away looking shame-faced. With the courtyard empty save for the captain, Ezio boldly walked up, grabbed the man by his cape and flung him into some nearby scaffolding, taking out the support of the structure and bringing the whole thing down on him, including the bricks being used to repair a corner of the building.

Ezio quickly hid in the shadows, pulling up his white cape to hide the bright red of his collar as the recruits who had just left and were still likely near the door, came running out and shouted out in panic. This drew the guards from outside in and the passersby to start looking in curiously and whispering about the fact that the captain had suddenly died. With all the guards questioning what to do without the captain, it was incredibly easy for Ezio to slip into the building and start climbing the stairs of the tower.

At the top was only one guard who clearly wasn't expecting white death to surge up and send him flying over the top of the tower down to the streets below. And, to Ezio's luck, there was a supply of gunpowder that the guard had likely been using for his arquebusier. With night continuing to fall, Ezio took one of the torches, lit the powder kegs, and spotted a haystack below. It was easy to calculate how the fall would go and dive off as the explosion behind him took off the wooden roof of the tower.

In the haystack, however, Ezio remembered, again, that he was injured and held his breath to hold off a cry of pain as his shoulder _seared_ him with agony. He'd slipped back into how he used to do things alone so easily, confusing the guards and slipping through the diversions, and he forgot that he _didn't_ have back up. Mario was dead. Bartolomeo, Teodora, Paola, Volpe, they weren't here. He needed to build his support again.

"Someone just beat a Borgia captain!"

"The Borgia can be beaten?"

"Was the captain killed or was it an accident?"

"... The Borgia can be _beaten_?"

"Look at them, they can't even decide what to do without their Borgia master!"

And the jeers and gossip continued.

In that haystack, listening to the people, Ezio was pleased. The Borgia rule had been broken. No doubt the Borgia would try to reassert itself, but the people now knew it could be beaten. It would make the work Ezio had in mind of smaller victories easier.

Once his shoulder was no longer beating his head for his stupidity, Ezio got out of the haystack and made his way back to Machiavelli.

"One tower will not convince these sheep of anything," was all the diplomat said before once more guiding them to the hideout he'd spoken of earlier.

The hideout was an old worn-out looking storehouse on a small island on the Tiber River. Machiavelli took Ezio to a bank just as it was closing, the same bank with the Matteo he'd mentioned at dinner and went to an underground cellar to use another tunnel into the storehouse proper. Most of the building was barren, rooms left to spiders and dust and the occasional box of forgotten materials. But it was dry and protected from the elements. One room was clearly an office, with thick rugs that helped hold the warmth of a fire roaring in a fireplace. A thick desk was in the corner with a soft chair that, to Ezio's hidden embarrassment, seemed to be calling him after such a long day with his injured shoulder.

Shortly after arriving, there was a signaled knock on one of the many hidden doors from buildings that, to the exterior of the storeroom, looked like separate rooms or offices, but were connected to the storehouse. Machiavelli gave an answering knock before opening the door. Ezio tensed at the Papal guard's heavy armor and crested tunic, but the helmet came off and the man underneath had a large smile.

"_Ben trovato_, Niccolò!" the man smiled, running a hand through his helmet-mussed hair. "Ah! _Ser_ Ezio, a pleasure," he gave a deep bow and kept his hands visible, clearly aware of Ezio's wariness. "Fabio Orsini, at your service. I've heard a great deal about you from my cousin — Bartolomeo d'Alviano."

Ezio relaxed immediately, seeing a vague familiar resemblance in the facial structure of Fabio with his mercenary friend. "A fine warrior," Ezio said, memories starting to pop up from his time with Bartolomeo, talking around the campfire with the troops and such. "He'd mentioned a cousin who had foolishly married a Borgia."

Fabio smiled. "She's not as tainted and corrupted as her family, or so I thought. Then her dear cousin Cesare started to cripple my family. When I had to rescue a friend from Tor di Nona that's been in the Orsini family for centuries, I'd had enough."

"And your wife?" Ezio asked.

"Still thinks I'm a loyal dog. I look forward to dissolving the marriage as soon as I can. Thank the Lord I haven't spawned any more Borgia yet."

Machiavelli stepped forward with some wine. "Fabio has lent us the unused storeroom here on Isola Tiberina."

"My way of fighting back against my _dear_ commander, Cesare," Fabio sneered. "Damn him," he spat. He turned back to Ezio. "I know you are used to better accommodations in Toscana..."

But Ezio smiled. "It is perfect," he said. The hidden nature of this, compared to how open Monteriggioni was, was fitting. He could slip in and out through any of the side buildings, or the bank, and no one would be the wiser. He could use this for what he had in mind around Roma. "May I do with it as I please?"

"_Si_," Fabio smiled. "I'm tired of that _idiota_ telling my men where to go and what to do. I refuse to do the same. My only request is that this can be a storehouse again once those _bastardi_ have been toppled."

"That will not be a problem," Ezio grinned. He could convert the various rooms to several purposes. Rooms for fellow Assassins, an armory, maybe a library for study. Yes, this would do nicely.

"_Bene_," Fabio nodded. "Machiavelli, here are the reports you asked for. It won't mean much as I'm about to be shipped out like a damned errand boy. I'm off to begin preparations for Romagna. Wish me bad luck." Fabio looked back to the Florentine Assassin. "Today, Cesare commands my men, but soon, I hope, we will be free."

Machiavelli saw him out while Ezio finally sat in that comfy-looking chair by the desk and let himself be grateful to be off his feet after being on them for most of the day. He sipped his wine again as the diplomat returned.

"Now, I propose we begin planning our assault on the Borgia."

Ezio scoffed. "Oh, you think we are ready for such an attack?" he asked sarcastically. Even ignoring the grief he was fighting on Monteriggioni, his shoulder was still a problem. There was no way they had the resources or ability to assault the seat of Borgia power. It would mean heavy losses and no guarantee of success.

"_Si_," the diplomat replied, nonplussed.

Time to take down that arrogant confidence and make Machiavelli see the truth of their situation. "Do you know, for instance, where the Borgia troops took Caterina Sforza?"

"_What_?" Machiavelli whirled around. "She's one of our staunchest supporters! What happened?"

Ezio ignored the question and continued. "Are you also unaware that the Borgia have captured the Apple of Eden?" he asked coldly.

The diplomat's jaw dropped. "How could we have lost the Apple?"

"So," Ezio leaned back in his chair, "you do _not_ know what goes on with our enemies."

Machiavelli scowled horribly. "What _happened_?"

"Oh?" Ezio said archly. "You're the one who 'knows our enemies' so well. Surely you know all this?"

The diplomat said nothing, only crossing his arms behind his back and attempting to regain his composure, though his jaw was clearly clenched tightly.

Sighing, Ezio looked away and rubbed his face. Angering Machiavelli would do no good. They were on the same side, though they both clearly thought differently. So he dropped his irritation at the diplomat's arrogance. "Do we at least have an underground here to work with?"

Machiavelli's jaw tightened even further and he refused to meet Ezio's eye. "Hardly," he growled. "Our mercenaries are ensnared in a losing battle with Cesare's French allies. We have girls working for us in a brothel frequented by cardinals and other important Romans, but the Madame there is lazy and would rather attend parties than further our cause."

This was far from ideal. Even if Ezio wasn't always with Paola or Antonio, he had the guilds in Monteriggioni to keep lines of communication open. Machiavelli seemed to have been neglecting them with his narrow-minded focus on Cesare. That was unacceptable. And it was something else Ezio was going to have to do something about.

"What about the city's thieves?" he asked. After all, a thief had delivered the letter earlier. "Do they have a guild?"

Machiavelli grimaced again, not wanting to admit how bad things had gotten. "_Sì_, but they refuse to talk to us. I don't know why."

Ezio let out a long sigh. "You are no doubt expected at court tomorrow. You'd best be on your way."

"And you," the diplomat asked. "What are you going to do?"

Ezio smiled widely. "Make some friends."

* * *

"Desmond's back!" Rebecca chirped happily, getting up from her station and stretching her arms high above her head before swaying her hips and rolling her shoulders. "I'm gonna go relieve Shaun topside, he says he found my mp3 player."

Desmond blinked, still seated in the Animus, trying to remember what was going on. "... What?"

"It went missing, remember?" she said over his shoulder, hopping over the partially ruined steps that lead up to the library. "I gotta know where he found it!"

… Right. The last few days had been a blur for Desmond. After frantically setting up the Sanctuary to be a workstation and running for supplies, Desmond had been unequivocally told he was banned from going outside. His Animus sessions were still in the morning, and as soon as the clock hit three he was pulled out, the watches changed shift, he had a late lunch, and was left to sit on his hands. With no warehouse to work in, he had tried to run laps around the Sanctuary, do pushups, anything to build up strength and muscle memory. The workout was tolerated by everyone except Shaun, who found the noise terribly distracting and left Desmond with only one day every three to work his muscles. His next impulse was to look up a little bit on the Italian Renaissance, maybe get a "spoiler" or two on what happened, but Shaun wouldn't let him near the books and there had yet to be any internet. The third option was to practice in the Animus construct; he could practice his free-running in the data created Rome and push himself to his heart's content. But that... had mixed results for Desmond. He loved, _loved_, running around in the Construct, the freedom to practice and learn his limits and build up his mental stamina, but being in Rome was painful, too, because there were so many points of nostalgia in the fake city that left him drifting into Ezio's memories.

And fighting them was becoming increasingly difficult.

So the rest of the time he was sitting on his hands, sipping on a water bottle and left thinking.

… He didn't like thinking.

Because all he thought about was how relative his sanity was at this day, at this time.

Growling to himself, he began running around the Sanctuary, hopping over rubble and tables and past the sleeping bags or climbing the statues. He'd learned the hard way not to run in the tunnels below; they weren't safe for the kind of workout he was trying to put himself through, and as a side note the _last_ thing he needed was another comment from Shaun about how he smelled. Like the prick was one to talk.

_Bastardo_.

"Oh, are we going to go through this again, Desmond?"

Speak of the devil and he arrives.

"Sorry, can't hear you," Desmond said, running up to a wall, lifting himself two steps up the vertical surface and pushing himself into a flip. "Too busy putting the Bleeding Effect to good use."

"No, _no_, Desmond, that's _not_ what you're doing," Shaun countered as he walked to his station, opening up his laptop. "What you _are_ doing is distracting those of us who are doing_ real_ work. You know, like making that database you scroll through when you're running around in the Animus, or trying to find out what's so special about those locations Sixteen pointed out in his puzzles? Or keeping track of the other teams out in the field, yeah? You know, work like _that_?"

"_Vai a farti fottere, porco puttana,_" Desmond hissed back, leaping up the steps and then flipping down them, tucking into a tight roll and then a handstand, anything to work out his sense of vertigo.

"English, Desmond, _English_, even you 'melting pot' Americans claim your official language is English."

Had his slipped into Italian? What'd he say? God damn it. "English is, genius."

"Actually, no, no it isn't, Baby Assassin; don't you know anything about your own country? What are we, primary school students?"

"Would both of you just _shut up_?" Lucy demanded, looking up from her computer screens.

Desmond paused, mid jump, making him slide on his sneakers and skid onto his fanny. Stumbling onto his feet and craned his neck to get a better look at the blond. She was hunched forward, however, and hidden by her monitors.

That just wouldn't do.

Walking over to her station, he asked, "Everything all right?"

Her head was in her hands, shaking slightly, before taking a deep breath and looking up at him. Her eyes were unfocused, almost haunted, before she pulled herself together and met his gaze.

"... I... don't like being stuck underground with them out there looking for us."

That made two of them. The claustrophobia was pressing when Desmond was forced to sit still; he couldn't even imagine what it was like to Lucy, de facto team leader forced to make the hard decisions, risked bringing them to Monteriggioni and triggering all kinds of episodes with Desmond's Bleeding effect. She had risked everything to save him from Abstergo, had put everything on the line all so that _he_ could be kept safe. Desmond didn't think he could handle that kind of pressure. He was a runner, after all.

Or, at least, he was.

"You're doing a great job," he said, crouching down and touching her knee. "We're safe here."

Lucy made a face, looking away. "But for how long? Vidic won't give up. I know it."

Desmond rubbed her leg. "Neither will we."

Watery eyes looked at him. "You don't understand," she said, voice tight. Her voice trailed off, unable to complete the thought. All he could do was rub her leg, watch her shrink into herself, shut down completely before taking a deep breath. "Sorry," she mumbled. "The last thing you need is to see me freaking out. I've got this. Go back to exercising; we wouldn't want Rebecca to widen the Animus, right?"

"Oh, no," Shaun bit out from his station. "We wouldn't want me to keep working, now, would we?"

Desmond held Lucy's gaze for a little longer, though, willing her to see the faith he had in her, the trust, the worry and concern, the... the thing he didn't want to name yet. When he thought it was enough, he stood and started his laps again.

When Rebecca came down at the end of her shift, the skylight above them had shown it was full dark. Shaun had already eaten, Lucy had nibbled on very little throughout the afternoon, but Rebecca immediately went to the cooktop and lit the fire, grabbing a pan and butter and cracking some eggs on it.

Desmond cast a worried glance to the obviously stressed Lucy, pouring over her computer, before joining the programmer.

"Why do we have to stay down here all day?" he asked, watching the hot blond.

Rebecca blinked at him, before shrugging off her headphones and revealing their blaring volume. "What?"

Nonplussed at her rocker ways, Desmond repeated the question.

"Abstergo's still looking for us," she said, shrugging. "It'd be better if we never went out at all, but then, we'd run out of supplies. Popcorn and canned veggies and yogurt only last so long."

Desmond frowned, looking around the once pristine room, the grit in the formerly shining marble, the decay and moss. "It's like being stuck in a cave during a rainstorm."

"Yeah," she snorted, "Well, knowing the Templars, monsoon season's about to arrive. What's that saying? Always be prepared?"

He returned the snort, grabbing a styrofoam plate and handing it over as she poured her scrambled, burnt eggs onto the flatware. "Your ancestors have such interesting lives," she said, changing the topic. "I mean, swordplay, riding, jumping off rooftops, all that stealth and intelligence gathering. It's awesome. I went in once, you know. The Animus. It was lame."

Shaun, across the way, of _course_ heard the dark haired rocker, and turned to look over his glasses incredulously.

"Yeah, what were you? Must've been a spinster, probably."

"Worse, a Prussian mercenary. I spent hours firing guns. BORING!"

"Yeah," Shaun replied with bitter sarcasm, "guns are for sissies!"

Lucy appeared by the makeshift kitchen and opened the small portable fridge. She stared at the contents for a long time, a frown pressing deeper and deeper on her face, making Desmond slightly curious, before she slammed it closed and stood to her full height.

"Okay," she announced, crossing her arms and glaring at everybody. "I had two yogurts in the mini fridge as of this morning and now they're gone. I'm hungry and annoyed, so who took them?"

Everyone blinked at the accusation, but Shaun recovered first.

" 'Took them?' _Took_ them?" he repeated, incredulous. "I am supremely disappointed that you would make such allegations of your dedicated staff. This accusation is unjust, unfounded and frankly rather insulting."

Rebecca snorted. "Shaun ate both of them. I know because he asked me if I wanted one. You were on watch."

A dark blue gaze leveled itself on Shaun, and Desmond stepped back to watch the show.

"I most certainly did _not_! Who are _you_ to point the finger when I happen to know for a fact you deliberately left your mp3 player on my-"

"Shaun," Lucy said in an icy voice, "you're on clean up for the next week. Now I have to go _get _yogurt."

"You can't just-"

Lucy turned on her heel and walked up the stairs to the villa, beautiful ass swinging in time with her hips, vetoing rebuttal and closing all arguments. Shaun was left sputtering without his audience.

Ah, to watch the prick be put in his place. Desmond hid his smile behind his hand, coughing to disguise the chuckle.

Now thoroughly disillusioned, Shaun gave a pointed glare at the two spectators, Rebecca finishing her eggs and Desmond still fighting to keep a straight face.

"This just in:" he muttered, "Rebecca is a Templar."

"Keep dreaming, asshole," Rebecca said, a deep throaty laugh escaping. "_They_ sure as hell wouldn't be so good at putting you in your place. And for the record, I just saved your ass. Again. Imagine how pissed she would have been if she found out much later." Throwing the plates away she disappeared into the tunnels to wash up. That left a bruised Shaun with Desmond, and he quickly changed topics to deflect any ire.

"You still managing the teams out in the field?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and shrugging his shoulders.

"No phone line," Shaun answered after a beat, pouting. "Rebecca's working on patching us into the network."

Desmond smirked even further, unable to help the next jibe. "So how does it feel, letting the lady do all the work?"

Shaun, in response, scoffed. "She's no lady!"

"HEY!" said woman shouted, coming back from washing up. "Keep that up and I'll sic Lucy back on you!"

Shaun ignored her.

An hour later Lucy came back with a new pack of yogurt, one opened and she ate as she walked, savoring the taste before putting the rest away. "Okay," she said once she had finished, leaning back on her station. "Rebecca, how's communication?"

"We're still on a closed circuit," the rocker said. "I'm not used to the Italian lines, and I don't trust being so close to Rome – not that that technically matters. The villa itself doesn't have a line, or anything at all resembling technology, but there is one by the fountain that I might be able to tap into. Now that the Animus is secure and fully upgraded and operational, I should be able to take the time to look at it."

Lucy nodded, pulling out her blond hair and retying it. "Shaun? The locations from Subject Sixteen?"

"There are plenty of things about them individually and collectively that are quite fascinating," Shaun said, his voice noticeably more subdued. "Architecture, time period, purpose; Sixteen's labeled everything from aqueducts to the Colosseum to the Senate, but, other than the fact they're all in _Rome_, there's no one thing that connects all of them together."

"Then maybe that's the clue."

Everyone looked to Desmond.

"You said before that the coordinates Sixteen left were actually _Animus_ locations, right?" Desmond explained. "In the real world there probably _isn't_ a location, but in the Animus there might be."

Lucy shook her head. "You've been in there enough already."

"No, it's fine. I can do it. I'm not synching with Ezio directly, so there won't be any, uh, 'bleeding.' "

"I still don't like it."

"Oh, let's just stick him in," Rebecca said. "You know if something goes pear-shaped I'll be the first to let you know, and if there's nothing there he's out in five minutes, no harm done."

"... Alright," she acquiesced.

Desmond was already halfway to the Animus when Lucy touched his arm, offering him a penetrating, almost pleading gaze before saying, "Be careful."

A corner of his heart warmed, and he offered a soft smile and a nod.

Desmond rolled his shoulders in the load screen, swinging his arms and looking at his – Ezio's – boots and fancy clothes, tugging at the half cape and hood before spawning on... uh...

"Where am I?" he asked, looking up to the sky.

"_Tiber Island, the Assassin home base, apparently,_" Shaun replied. "_It's a long walk to the Colosseum._"

"Yeah, but it will be time well spent," Desmond said, cracking his knuckles and hopping up the face of a building, looking for and finding windowsills and arches and loose bricks for hand and foot holes, working his way up... was this the warehouse?... before finally ascending to the roof and looking around. He saw a beam sticking out, and he saw a ghost leaping off it.

He frowned. It wasn't Ezio taking a leap of faith, the shoulders were different. Who was that? Another shadow leapt, and another and another, and Desmond felt the all too familiar sense of nostalgia, the feeling of heavy emotions attached to this place: nights looking out over the city, evenings staring at Castel Sant'Angelo, talking or fighting with Machiavelli and appr-

Desmond shook his head. The last thing he needed was to sync into another memory, so he turned his back to the scene and instead spun around in a full 360, finally finding the Colosseum waaaaaaaaaaay off in the distance. A long walk indeed. He spied a bridge going north, however, and did a few calculations before deciding he couldn't make the jump and risk desynchronizing himself. Instead, he hopped down the roofs and landing in a tight roll, startling the NPCs and going north into the most densely populated section of the city before turning east. This was not to say he stayed on the streets all that long, however, for soon he was hopping up wagons and crates, jumping off lantern beams and signs, catwalking along ropes and leaping across rooftops. His body thrilled with the exercise he could not get outside the Animus – even if it was a giant trick of his mind – and soon he was stopped by Shaun's acerbic voice.

"_Are you _trying_ to go in the wrong direction, Desmond?_"

Finally stopping, he found himself looking up at the Campidoglio, the hill stretching up and above him. He wasn't even winded.

Grinning sheepishly, he offered an embarrassed sorry before running full tilt to the edge of a roof and leaping off, birds flying up in fright as he flipped around and landed in a cart of hay. The adrenaline left him laughing, and he allowed himself a few breaths before running full tilt up the steps (all million of them) and walked around the buildings there, looking for a path down the back of the hill.

He loved the run, the sense of freedom he didn't have in the Sanctuary, the sense that he could go anywhere and do anything; experiment and test and fly and run and _live_ in a way he couldn't in the real world. At moments like this, with no after-images of Ezio, he felt truly alive.

There was a pair of horses tied by a bale of hay, and Desmond grabbed one and mounted, taking a moment to adjust to being in the saddle before kicking into a fast canter. He had ridden as a child, but not nearly as much as Ezio, and the Florentine's experience made him an expert on the animal, NPC or otherwise. "Hey, when this is over, how about we all go riding?" he asked, looking up. "I can show you some stuff."

"_We'll add that to the list of ways to have fun,_" Lucy quipped, a rare smile in her voice. "_You should be there soon._"

And, true enough, riding under two arches and round a bend, the massive Colosseum appeared before him.

"Whoa... It's... it's so big," he said, taking a moment to just look in awe. "Is it this big in real life?"

"_Of course it is, Baby Assassin._"

Desmond stayed there for a long time, looking up as peasants walked around him and couriers rode past him. How did the Romans _build_ all this? It was just so... amazing; like the fortress at Masyaf, or the Duomo at Florence. How could you _not_ be impressed? It was just... just...

"Whoa," he said again, before shaking his head and focusing. Taking a deep breath, he thought about the eagle in the back of his mind and asked for its help, feeling the shift in his thoughts and looking around. His color palette had changed, the lame CSI-glow of his vision more colored, looking almost like Ezio's. Did the Bleeding Effect affect his Eagle Vision, too? He put that thought away for later brooding, kicking his heels into the flank of his horse and nudging it into a walk.

The structure was _enormous_, and he had made it over halfway round the circuit before at last spying... wait...

"Is that... is that a hole?" he asked, looking up at the oddly shaped hole in the Colosseum. Not an image, an effigy originally drawn in blood, but rather a section of the outer wall that had the bricks removed, and white light spilled out of it, seeming to invite him in.

"_We can't see it with our readings,_" Rebecca said. "_Sixteen hid them too well. You'll have to access it yourself._"

Desmond looked up at the three stories – three _oversized_ stories – he would have to climb in order to reach it.

"... right."

It took two hours to climb the Colosseum, and more than once he would look inside to the circular theater and feel more nostalgia (which decidedly did _not_ help), but he was far enough away that it didn't affect him. Much. Eventually he made it to the glyph, no, rift, and climbed in.

He wasn't completely sure where he was, the room, cavern... _space_... was completely dark; only one light from an indiscernible place shown down on a box that just... floated. Weird. Weird, weird, weird, _weird_. Desmond approached it slowly.

"_You dropped out of the grid. Where were you_?"

"... Not sure," Desmond said, feeling... what was he feeling? Nostalgia? "Some kind of... fragmented memory?"

"_Maybe you should stop,_" Lucy said.

Desmond shook his head. "I'm good," he said, "I want to keep going." Sixteen had fought his own sanity to leave this message, it was the least Desmond could do. He opened the box.

"Loading... loading... loading..."

**Cluster 1.**

A series of painting filled Desmond's vision, with the clue, _Masters all, they did not work, but ruled from on high,_ for him to puzzle through. He didn't recognize any of the paintings outright, but then he didn't need to as Shaun immediately started spouting off their names, their artists, when they were created, etc, etc, etc. He had long ago learned to tune out the historian during these things. The connection wasn't to do with the whos and wheres, but rather what the paintings were actually depicting.

He quickly picked out the paintings that had masters and servants.

"Loading..."

And then, a blurb of text under a Templar cross:

_They become increasingly aware of our existence. We can no longer rely on the divine right of aristocracy to maintain control. We need a new system, something much more subtle._

"I don't get it," Desmond said slowly as something else loaded. "Is this a memo? Or a letter?"

"_Don't know,_" Lucy said slowly. "_I've never seen it before, but that may not necessarily mean anything._"

"Quarantine zone."

Desmond blinked, looking at the blank screen, moving his cursor around slowly. There was a slow, sonar-like beep, and he followed it until he found a simple red dot. He touched it, and the Animus said, "Quarantine Lifted."

"What? That was it?" Desmond looked around, finding himself back at the Colosseum. "I don't get it. Was there supposed to be more or something?"

"_It did seem pretty simple,_" Rebecca said, "_But the other ones started out simple, too, didn't they? The next one's at Palazzo Senatorio._"

"... Wasn't I just there?" Desmond muttered, beginning the laborious task of climbing back down. It took another two hours to do so, to say nothing of getting a horse and riding back the way he had come.

He could see the faint outline of Machiavelli there, Ezio walking up to him and the hor_ses Did __you lib_erate your money fro_m our friend?"_

Desmond shook off the nostalgia, the ambivalent feelings Ezio had for the philosopher, and turned instead to the palatial building of the Senate. Asking his eagle for help he didn't see any glowing white holes in the building. Dismounting, he walked around slowly, taking in everything, even the ornate stairs leading up to the building. Still finding nothing, he climbed up to the roof. "Christ all this Eagle Vision is giving me a headache," he muttered to himself. "How did Ezio and Altair do it all the time?" Hoisting himself up, he looked around again, but still found no white holes. Feeling slightly perturbed, he looked over the edge of the building, slowly walking around the perimeter and becoming more frustrated with each step.

Finally, however, when he hit the back wall that looked out over the Roman fields, he found the rift. "Got it," he called out, swinging over the edge with the practiced ease of Altair and Ezio, finding footholds and marking an easy path to the rift.

He entered it, and found himself in another black expanse with a floating box. Opening it, he found **Cluster 2**.

"Loading..." the Animus voice said.

Desmond sighed, waiting for the puzzles to load.

_The individual intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in other cases, led by a _invisible hand_ to promote an end which was no part of his intention. -Adam Smith_

"... And who the hell is Adam Smith?" Desmond asked, looking up in the darkness.

"_One of the 'greatest Scots of all time,' if you believe the tele,_" Shaun said with his normal derision. "_He doesn't exactly have much to his name, but he did have one publication you should know: _The Wealth of Nations."

Desmond sighed again, this time in frustration. How many times did he have to tell these people he didn't have a public school education? "Which is...?" he prompted.

"_It was required reading in Abstergo,_" Lucy said, her voice distant with memory. "_It was published at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. It's considered a fundamental work in classical economics; it talks about labor and money and free markets._"

"Okay, so what does that have to do with Abstergo?"

But the quote had faded away, "Loading..." the next screen: a picture of a hazy forest that slowly twisted and split into a ring puzzle that Desmond was very familiar with from the other glyphs Sixteen and left around Italy. The text next to it was nonsensical, but Desmond knew he'd get the full text once he solved the puzzle, and set about work; he slowly revealed an old black and white photo of some kind of mining operation, people attending to a giant crane of some kind.

"By far the greatest of those goods which are objects of desire, are procured by labour; and they might be multiplied, not in one country alone, but in many, almost without limit, if we are disposed to bestow the labour necessary to obtain them."

"... A quote from the guy?" he asked.

"_I think so, it certainly sounds like the work._"

The puzzle morphed into a new ring puzzle, a lake that twisted to a new picture Desmond had to decipher. "What is this leading to?" he asked. "Another piece of Eden? Are we tracking more history? What else is there to know other than the Bible was literally right that there was an Adam and Eve and there was a civilization before us? There's only so much world-shaking discoveries I can take here."

"_I'm not sure,_" Shaun said, for once not being trite. "_But he does tend to make a production of things, doesn't he? Once a certain someone gets a phone-line established I can troll around some sites and brush up one our little Scot, see if he was a Templar._"

The lake was solved to reveal factory, tall smoke stacks and power lines and workshops.

"A great empire has been established for the sole purpose of raising up a nation of customers. It cannot be very difficult to determine who have been the contrivers of this whole mercantile system; not the consumers, we may believe, whose interest has been entirely neglected; but the producers, whose interest has been so carefully attended to."

"And isn't _that_ a pleasant thought," Desmond muttered.

"_It was Adams' key thought:_" Lucy said, "_Modern economics were meant for the producers and __not the consumers, because it's the producers that reap the benefits of the consumers, and the key is in building and maintaining the labor necessary to keep the producers happy._"

A new puzzle, this time a park of some kind with people playing that, once Desmond solved the puzzle, morphed into workroom of women – the precursor to the cubicle barnyard.

"A country that makes provision to increase inhabitants, whose situation is good, and whose people have a genius adapted to trade, will never fail to be gainers in the balance, provided the labour and industry of their people be well managed and carefully directed."

"_Until the labor movement, of course,"_ Rebecca said.

"_That's debatable,_" Shaun countered. "_The laborers are hardly the people calling the shots these days, are they?_"

"Loading..."

Desmond frowned. So, what, modern economics was created by producers? And labor was... just a factor in the profit margins? Desmond shuddered at the thought; that sounded distinctly Templar... Was that the point?

_lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo _

"What the hell?" Desmond blinked, staring at the screen. "Do you guys see this?"

"_Yeah,_" Rebecca said. "_But what is it?_"

But the screen faded to black. "Quarantine Zone," the Animus said, and Desmond was left to scan the screen, listening to the sonar to guide him. Two dots were found, and the quarantine lifted, spawning him back in Rome.

"Just what exactly am I unlocking?" he asked once he was out of the Animus.

"I'm not completely sure," Rebecca said. "They're files. I _think_ they're video files, but some of the sizes aren't right. I won't be completely sure until all of them are unlocked; Sixteen proved to be damn good at this, and if it's like the last file they all need to unlock and stitch themselves together. I'm going to try and crack them myself, but the coding here is ridiculous; it's like a crazy person made them."

"... A crazy person did," Desmond said softly.

Rebecca started, "Sorry, Desmond, I didn't mean-"

"No, it's fine; I'm fine," he said, touching her arm in reassurance before darting up the steps to the villa. He stepped out into the back courtyard, knowing it was stupid and dangerous and beyond idiotic, but the claustrophobia was pressing on him too much. Sixteen, the clues, the Sanctuary, his sanity, he needed to _breathe_ damn it, and the open air helped.

Sucking in oxygen, he looked up to the sky, trying to find familiar constellations.

The light pollution prevented him from seeing any.

He sighed. Still in the future. Still in 2012. And the constellations would be in different places anyway, right? After six hundred years?

A hand touched his shoulder, and he found Lucy there, looking up at him with worry.

"I really am fine," he whispered. "It just gets... claustrophobic down there."

"I understand," she said softly, her delicate fingers tracing down his arm. "Come on, let's get you some rest."

"... Okay."

* * *

_"The rest is up to you, Desmond."_

_ "Desmond? I heard your name once before..."_

_ "Altair! It's me! It's Malik, be at peace!"_

_ "Desmond..."_

Desmond awoke with another start, and groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. He looked up to the statue of Altair, the marble form looking down at him with a heavy frown. Whoever had made the statue had made him picture-perfect. Desmond could see up into his eyes, and it almost seemed like the Saracen Assassin was glaring down at him, disapproving of Desmond's very existence.

"So you knew about me, too?" he asked. When had that happened, he wondered. Why was he still dreaming about flashes of Altair's life, after being with Ezio so long?

Only, it wasn't so long. He'd lived Altair's summer of rebirth in a week; Ezio had covered twenty years in a week and now, Desmond blinked as he realized this was his third week in the Animus. It didn't _feel_ like a week at all. He groaned again, rolling over and away from the statue. The last thing he needed was to think about how fucked up his life was.

That didn't stop him from feeling Altair's eyes boring into his back. _God, _he needed to have a talk with that guy.

Too bad he was dead...

Huffing, he got up, rubbing his face again and walking away from the statue whose eyes still followed him. Running circles around the Sanctuary woke everyone up, and it wasn't long before he was asking to be plugged back in; anything to get away from those eyes.

And he tried very hard not to think about how that sounded.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And Ezio is now at rock bottom. He has no money (or at least no access to it), not guilds, no arm for the moment, and his only ally is _Machiavelli_, who quite obviously is a difficult person. While this is probably the largest conversation they have over the fic, it's not their most explosive, and pretty much every time Machiavelli shows up you can expect a fight of some kind. Our Florentine diplomat dips in an out of the course of this fic - he's a busy man being sent from post to post, but also because he's freakin' hard to write because he's so closed off and complicated. We hope we did him justice here and in later scenes.

Take note, also, that Ezio has a lot of ideas. That will chase him through the next several chapters. :P

Desmond in two chapters in a row, that's a downright novelty! His appearances are going to be quite sporadic, actually. We broke protocol by writing Ezio's story entirely first and then going back and fitting in Desmond. As always he's the hardest to write because of the content generation. We had a slightly easier time here because we pulled from the emails - such as Rebecca loosing her mp3 player or Lucy complaining about yogurt. Some of the character bits in those emails are hilarious. The biggest problem with him was finding a "relative sanity" and slowly going more insane as things go. He has to be pretty far gone by the end and it's quite a walk he has to take; so here he's a little freaked out by a certain statue. That's not a lead up to his next sequence, no not at all. :D

Next chapter: Ezio makes friends. What could possibly go wrong?


	4. A Broken Brotherhood

**Part Four: A Broken Brotherhood**

Ezio realized after leaving the warehouse that he didn't know where to start. He had no idea where the Roman Thieves' Guild was located, and the mercenaries could be anywhere in the countryside. He didn't know specifically where the brothel the Assassins used was, either, and he made a face as he realized he had nowhere to go.

That didn't mean he didn't have something to _do_, however, and so he walked around the tiny island, familiarizing himself with the buildings and noting the shops that were open and the shops that were closed or run down. A smithy was attached to the warehouse, a bank not far – he would have to visit that the next day; he still had no coin in his purse. His shoulder throbbed and his energy seeped out of him, but that didn't stop him from deliberately starting up conversations with the people that were out and doing last minute shopping or shuffling home, putting on the charm and making his presence known. When everything was closed, he went back into the now empty warehouse and lit a candle at the ornate desk, sifting through drawers before he found quill and parchment and began making lists.

Finances came first, he needed to talk to that banker and set up his accounts. Most of his plans needed access to money. Favors came next – nothing exuberant; at least, not yet. He needed a better assessment of people first, meaning he needed to be more familiar with the city. A map, he needed to dig up a map. Borgia towers; he underlined that several times, adding the word "symbols" next to it in broad, heavy letters. Contacts were next, he needed to find the brothel first, it was probably the closest and he was in no condition to go gallivanting about the city as he had that day. He grimaced at the thought of setting back his recovery and did not want to do that again.

There were other things on the list as well, larger priorities: finding Caterina Sforza, finding the Apple, locating Cesare after the attack, getting eyes on the Pope, planting spies in the papacy. Machiavelli seemed to have a strong start on that front, diplomat as he was, but Ezio didn't want to leave everything to his fellow Florentine; the man was too set in his own ways, Ezio feared he wouldn't adapt as need be.

Food, too. And furniture and supplies for the warehouse, maybe a stable for horses? But then there was feed and upkeep for that as well, and...

It was no surprise when Ezio fell asleep at his desk, ink smearing his cheek.

When he woke his shoulder utterly _hated_ him from the prone position he had put himself, and he downed more of that terrible tasting potion to help with the pain. He made a more concerted effort to stretch out the arm, trying to limber up the torn and abused muscles.

A week; he'd give himself a week to heal and then he would try to find the brothel, by then he should be past the worst of the pain and able to move about without worry of doing more damage. Once he was satisfied he was out the door again, foregoing breakfast and going straight to the bank. After dropping Machiavelli's name, a man named Matteo ushered him to a back room, and Ezio explained his needs.

"_Messere_, I must admit, I've never heard of such an account before."

"I'd be worried if you did," he said with easy charm. "If my banker survived the attack, he'll contact you quickly and things will go much smoother. If not..." His voice trailed off, thinking about falling ramparts and burning streets and powder and cannon and siege engine and shots and Ulderico and Mario and... He shook his head, taking a deep, oddly shaky breath. "If not, I will show you how it's done," he said softly. "In the meantime, I need some simple pocket money, which means I need to set up a shell account and then link it to my other funds."

"But how do I keep it off the books?"

And so one (former) banker educated another in the fine art of shell accounts and shadow transactions and how to hide them. Claudia was more adept at this than he, to be honest, but he would prefer to do the work himself if it meant his sister and mother and niece were all safe in Florence. He looked north, to where the city would be, and wondered how they were doing. With Machiavelli here, they would have sought Paola, and she and Annetta would ensure they were well looked after. So long as they were safe... The reassurance gave him strength, and he took a deep breath and rubbed his injured shoulder.

His money was sparse indeed, but after _three hours_ of searching to find a carpenter that was not only open, but also of any quality, he placed his orders to furnish the empty warehouse he was now calling home. A bed, another desk, a weapon rack, some chairs. Ezio didn't need much – he couldn't _afford_ much – but he didn't need much to survive, and he bought only enough to set up a comfortable room to sleep. Cartographers were virtually nonexistent in Rome, and so he realized with some annoyance that he would have to make his own. Leonardo had shown him how, and he realized his near future would involve a lot of climbing. He rolled his shoulder and moaned at the thought. The two stitches on his side also reminded him it was a bad idea.

For the next several days, he followed a similar pattern. His secret accounts had an adequate sum of money, but he knew better than anyone how quickly florins disappeared – he remembered his first few years in Monteriggioni and how he had been forced to loot tombs to make ends meet and have enough finances to renovate the small city. With Monteriggioni destroyed, he had no income coming in, and he had to be more than frugal with his earnings. How would he get money in Rome...? The people here had no money to spend, let alone donate. He could invest the guilds, Antonio and the other Assassins were always generous with their allies, but first he had to _find_ them. What about a public front...?

Ah, but he needed money for _that_, as well. He ran a hand through his hair under his hood.

"I have grown complacent, it seems," he muttered to himself, standing on the bridge connecting the Tiber Island to Rome, he still didn't know its name yet.

When he had first started out in becoming an Assassin, he'd had nothing. The Pazzi had murdered his family, had seized all his assets, and left him literally with just the clothes on his back; but he had had Mario, and Monteriggioni. Even as low as they had started, the Auditore family had started with _something_, and Ezio was only just beginning to realize he now _literally_ had nothing. No income, barely any finances, and no _Zio_ Mario to go to.

Mario...

Ear and bone flying, the scuffled sounds of a brutal fight, Ulderico kissing Claudia, Mario going for a horse.

_"We stand together!"_

"_Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told different._"

...

_Merda._

_ Merda!_

_ "Merda!"_

Ezio pounded his fist into the rail of the bridge, startling several people.

He had enough presence of mind to know that he did not want the public to witness the breakdown he was about to have, and so he stormed back over the bridge, navigating the crowds with as much decorum he could muster and going back to the warehouse. Once he was safely locked in the cavernous space and many rooms, he pulled out his sword and recklessly bashed it against a stone column, heedless of what it would do to his shoulder. After that first visceral swing, he practiced forms on the only "dummy" the warehouse had, working until the anger and energy spilled out of him.

Ezio had always been like this. Even when he was younger the impatience and the anger at the death of his family would drive him to desperation and reckless abandon. It had almost gotten him killed, once, and since then he had learned to temper it when he could, but sometimes... Sometimes... He just had to fight it out of him.

… Ulderico loved those days.

"_MERDA!_"

When it finally left him, he sank to his knees, panting. Sweat bead down his brow and in his hair, and his breath came out in short, sharp gasps. Tears were mixed in as well, but he paid them no notice. He sobbed, falling asleep on the stone floor and mourning his losses.

* * *

Waking next brought him shivers and _agony_ in his shoulder. He cursed himself for his idiocy and got up slowly. The stone pillar had a significant number of chips in it, he winced at his work. The sword, of course, had no nicks, constructed by the great Altair himself and as impervious as his armor had once been.

Sighing, he went out into the streets and silently stole a horse, riding north to the city wall and the doctor, Dante.

"What did you _do _in the last four days?" he demanded. "Start a massacre?"

Ezio winced. "I have been left little time to rest," he said, his usual ironic tone absent.

"And just who are you working for that you need to rip your arm off of your very body?" Dante demanded, touching and probing and rubbing salve over the ripped hole in his shoulder.

Ezio was prevented from answering by a heavy knock on the door. One of the patients answered, and both Ezio and the doctor stiffened when they heard the shrill cry, "Borgia!"

Everyone scattered, tripping over themselves to get away. Even through the plague mask Ezio could see the doctor lose all color, and the Master Assassin quickly grabbed him and shoved him under a table, throwing a cloth over it and grabbing a roll of bandages and unrolling them. No sooner had he made his cover that the door burst open and a city guard in red uniform stormed in.

Ezio gave a level look. "Can I help you?" he asked in a low, deceptively neutral tone.

"Are you the doctor that works here?" the man, a captain, demanded.

"What if I were?" he countered, ripping the bandage off and wadding it together to press into his injury. The level of motion required was murder on his injury but he showed no sign of it.

"Then you are under arrest and must come with me."

Ezio gave a flagrant scoff. "Look at me, _idiota_, I'm a man who's survived some magic fire that came from a _condottiero's_ hand; do I _look_ like someone who could be a doctor? There's nobody here, I've been treating myself." He wrapped more bandages over his shoulder and threw on his shirt – and most importantly, his hidden blade.

"If you were shot by one of _Ser_ Cesare's men you must have come from Monteriggioni or Forli. You're coming with me."

"_Porco puttana_," Ezio cursed, making a show of ignoring the captain and reaching for his cape. "Go back to your masters, I have work to do."

"You think you can stand up to the Borgia, you-"

But the captain could say no more, he had reached for Ezio and the Master Assassin in turn had grabbed the man's shoulder, extracting his hidden blade and letting the thin shaft of metal dig deep into the man's chest. There was a startled gasp, and then a groan and the familiar smell of death as the man sank to the floorboards. "Yes," he told the corpse, rich baritone low and threatening. "I _can_ stand up to the Borgia; and I _intend_ to."

Silence hung in the tiny room for a moment, before Ezio stepped over the body and looked out into the main room. Empty. Apparently cowards were bred in Rome like livestock; Machiavelli would have some snide comment on that, and that just put Ezio in an even worse mood. Stepping back in he threw the tablecloth up and crouched down to the doctor. "Does this place have a back door?" he asked.

"W-what?"

"I can't drag the body out the main door, it would attract too much attention... unless you have a shroud? We can disguise him with that."

Dante was slowly drawn out from his hiding place and reassured that it was safe. When it finally settled into his head, his rational mind started functioning. "Yes, yes I do have a shroud, and there is a back door, come with me." Between the two of them, they stripped the corpse of armor and weaponry, some of which Ezio pocketed for himself, and hefted the body out. They were too far from the river, but they found an open corral and dumped the body in a trough of manure. The entire process took an hour, and Ezio's shoulder hated him even more.

"As I said," he pointed out with some of his Florentine irony, "I have been left little time to rest."

Dante studied Ezio carefully, wiping his hands of the dirty work and sizing the other man up.

"... You must lead an interesting life," he said finally.

Ezio smirked, tugging on his hood and massaging his shoulder. "The most interesting life you can imagine."

"When everyone else ran to save their own lives, you stayed to protect mine, _Messere; _ I can hardly thank you enough."

"What will you do now?"

"Find a new place to hide, it seems."

Ezio blinked, realizing serendipity had just fallen on his head. "I think I have a place for you to hide," he said smoothly, an ironic grin tugging on his features and charm filling his voice. "And, in time, I could even give you a clientele that would defend you instead of flee." That last one was a stretch, he didn't know what Machiavelli's men were like, but they were not the only two Assassins left in all of Italy, and hopefully not in Rome, either. It was something.

Dante, eyes wide, blinked. "_Messere,_ if you could do that I would call you _Maestro_."

"Then come with me," Ezio said genially, walking back to the house and the horse he had stolen. He rode it back to where he had left it, and quietly led Dante to the warehouse.

* * *

With a doctor on hand as he went about his errands, Ezio's shoulder fared quite a bit better. He withdrew enough money to seed a new practice for Dante on the island, sent a letter to Paola in Florence to ask after his family, made his face generally known to the island and the surrounding areas, and began the slow process of making a map of the city, spending hours on the roof of the warehouse staring out and blocking what he could. Machiavelli called on him on occasion, curious to see what he was doing, and their conversations often devolved into philosophical theatrics. Castel Sant'Angelo loomed in the distance, a dark reminder of his ultimate goal. Machiavelli was a fool to think they could attack right away; he still injured and with no resources in the city. He refused to make the mistakes of his youth and let impatience kill him. It had ultimately taken Antonio and an assault on a Barbarigo _palazzo_ four years in the making to drill it into him, and he strove to take that lesson to heart.

He also, finally, learned the location of the brothel the Assassins had contact with.

It was the end of January when he finally felt well enough to go. The sharp pain had dulled to an ever-present ache, and so he went north, following the river, and went to the brothel after leaving a note for Machiavelli.

He remembered his first visit to such a location; his embarrassment to witness people fornicating all over the building, the shock of realizing his _mother and sister_ were staying there and that he had nowhere else safe to keep them while his anger drove him to kill the _Gonfaloniere_, Uberto Alberti. That had been his first assassination, in a way, and the ugliest initiation into the ways of his father that one could experience.

Twenty years removed from that inexperienced whelp, he had no problems entering the brothel and seeing the men and women with their low cut corsets to distinguish gender, nor the patrons as they did their business. He frowned when he realized the scents of perfume were overwhelming instead of subtle, and that the rich, warm fabrics of any bordello he had ever been to were worn and threadbare.

"Welcome to the Rosa in Fiore, stranger," a courtesan said, eying Ezio with decidedly wary eyes despite her welcoming voice. Where was the shy blush, the lustful glance, the advertisement of desire?

Ezio shrugged off the irregularities. "_Salve_," he said politely, bowing his head. "Would you be kind enough to call the owner for me?"

The courtesan's eyes narrowed. "Madonna Solari is not in." She crossed her arms, a defensive gesture.

"Do you know where she is?"

She looked to the side, shifting her weight uncomfortably and clearly thinking of what to say next; her movements were an open book, and Ezio knew the woman, Solari, was in trouble. "I —"

"Help! _Help!_"

Ezio and the courtesan, and half the constituents of the brothel, looked up to see another prostitute, corset missing and bouncing everywhere, come running into the bordello. "Madonna Solari...!"

"Lucia!" the first courtesan said, darting up to her instead of ushering her to a private room. Amateurs, Ezio realized, these women were _amateurs_. "We thought you were gone for good!"

"The men took us on a ship. They released me, but she-"

Ezio swept up to both of them. "Perhaps we should take this conversation away from prying ears?" he asked, not without some derision. How was he going to work with these people? Never mind, one problem at a time. The first courtesan, he still didn't know her name, caught onto his suggestion and tugged them both to a private salle, shutting and locking the door. Ezio turned to the second, Lucia. "Who took you on a ship?"

Her makeup was smeared all over her face, her arms covered her naked breasts, and she shivered violently, in fear or chill was anyone's guess. "Slave traders _Messere_. Near Isola Tiberina. They want coin in exchange for her life. I _told_ her the Cento Occhi would do this, but she wanted the money so badly, she even went against that monster Cesare Borgia."

Ezio blinked. "_Cesare Borgia_ is linked to this bordello?" What luck!

"No. Yes. Sort of. I don't know for sure, he was here a few years ago; Fiora and I entertained him, and then he said he would take one of us. I never saw Fiora again, I _hate_ that _bastardo,_ and Madonna Solari never listened, she and her brother went right back to it; the Cento Occhi kept demanding more and more, and now _this_... They want over two thousand florins for her return! We don't have that kind of money!"

Ezio nodded. "I will get her back."

Both women stared at him. "... _What?_"

"Lock down the brothel, don't let any of the other courtesans out. Be subtle, if you can," he added with some doubt, "And wait until I return. If I am not back by nightfall, assume the worst."

He left the brothel without another word; they would either do as he said or not, and if he wanted to garner their loyalty, he would have to save this bitch of a _madonna_. He dared not risk his own money for this exchange, and getting that much money from Matteo would take time. Grinding his teeth at the thought, he got the money from the first money lender he could find – who grinned in delight at the exchange – and made his way to the river.

The docks were not on Isola Tiberina – it was too small to hold any – but rather on the west back of the river, the _rione_ Trastevere, near the southern end of the city. He took a gondola and rowed it downriver, letting the current take him where he needed to go and looking for any large ships as he reached the ports. There was only one of any size, run down and disreputable at first glance, and he saw several thinly dressed men, obviously thieves of some kind. A Borgia tower loomed over the pier, making the encounter even more dangerous, and Ezio resolved to keep the entire affair low key.

Any thoughts of _that_ were immediately put to a halt when a shrieking woman was hauled on deck, utterly naked and clearly abused. A man with a cloth tied around his face held a knife to her throat.

"Are you here for the whore?"

"Help me!" Solari shouted, struggling against her captor.

"I have your money," Ezio called up in calm tones. He eyed the Borgia tower, hoping they did not witness the exchange, or at least thought of it as nothing more than entertainment. "Let her go."

"No, take it up with Cesare."

And with that he drew the knife across her throat, arterial spray flying everywhere.

There was no helping it after that; the thief and everyone else on board moved in on Ezio to take his money, and he was _not_ going to face the interest rates of a moneylender, nor was he going to let the death of a woman – idiot though she may have been – go unanswered. He drew his beloved sword and turned his back to the Borgia tower, he did _not_ want the men up there recognizing him for any reason.

The fight was brutally one-sided. Even favoring a shoulder, Ezio had over twenty years' experience fighting, had learned from the very best, and he also had the speed and agility of an assassin, twenty years in the making. However fast and agile the men were, Ezio was just as fast; he matched them move for move and then backed it up with mercenary training to cut them down like wheat. Blood flew everywhere, bodies littered the deck of the ship, and soon Ezio was standing in a sea of seven bodies.

He looked over the carnage he has wrought.

And he sighed, massaging his shoulder and began the arduous task of looting the bodies. He didn't find much, no letters or orders from Cesare, no link to the Pope's son. Glancing at the Borgia tower, he wiped the blood off his sword using his red sash and disappeared into the crowds and the half rotted buildings. The moneylender was disappointed to get the money back so quickly and not charge interest, and the walk back seemed longer with the weight of his failure pressing on his shoulders. He had failed to save the _madonna_, that left the bordello with no reason to ally with him. He would have to work twice as hard to garner their favor and their trust – and that was even assuming he was able to use them, pathetic as their abilities seemed to be. If he had to retrain them, it would take _months_, he couldn't call in Paola, busy as she was with protecting what was left of his family – and Teodora was too far away in Venice. Besides which, the nun had left the Church to run her business, being at their very seat could be dangerous for her. But what else could he do?

His shoulder throbbed after the fight, and he tried not to think about the _enormous_ failure that was attached to his injury.

"_Uncle... be careful._"

"_I will._"

He grunted against the thought, returning to the Rosa in Fiore as the sun began to set.

Someone had been keeping lookout, Ezio was immediately ushered in and swept into the private salle of earlier. Lucia was there, fully clothed this time and clearly half drunk, nursing a bottle of wine and crying in a corner to herself. Has she been left alone all this time? What idiocy!

She looked up, blubbering at first, before surging to her feet when she recognized him. "Where is Madonna Solari?"

"... She's dead," he said slowly.

Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she collapsed back into her corner, wailing.

"_Merda,_" said a new voice, and Ezio turned to see the blond courtesan from before.

"What now?" Lucia wailed. "Will we have to close?"

Ezio held in a growl. Amateurs! "You cannot close," he said, "I need your help."

The blond cocked her head to the side, looking at him like he was crazy. "_Messere_, without someone who can run things, we are finished."

"Have you no one to go over the accounts?"

"Don't be stupid. None of us can read."

Ezio gaped, appalled. Paola and Teodora both made sure a small collection of their girls could read for that exact reason, so that someone could take over if something happened or they were away. Just what kind of assassin _ran_ his bordello?

"... Ezio?"

The new voice sent a cold shiver down his spine, and he whirled around. "... Mother? Sister?"

Maria offered a soft smile, walking up and taking his arm while Claudia closed the door behind her. "Ezio," she greeted, touching his arm. "_Ser_ Machiavelli said that you might be here."

Never mind that! "What are you doing in Roma?" he demanded. "Has Firenze been attacked?" Where was Federica? Had he just lost another of his precious few...? His gut roiled at the thought...!

"No," Claudia said. "Or, rather, I do not know. We did not stay in Firenze long. We left as soon as Federica was settled. We contacted Machiavelli this afternoon and he said that you were here."

That... that made no sense.

"_Why_?" he asked, bewildered.

"Ezio," Claudia said, "we want to help."

To help? To _help_? Helping was staying Florence, helping was knowing they were safe, helping was _being out of the line of fire_. To _help_? This was no help at all! Now he had to figure out where to hide them, the warehouse was no place for them, and dig up the money to send them back to Florence, and make sure they _stayed_ there and... and...

Ezio took a menacing step forward; upset, furious, frustrated, and thinking about Mario and Ulderico's death. How could he look out for his sister as he had promised if she kept stepping into the line of danger? "I was trying to help _you_ by sending _you_ to Firenze," he said. "It's safer there, you would not be in danger like you would be here."

"But it is acceptable that _you_ are here?" Claudia countered, "Surrounded by Borgia and injured and without anything resembling help?"

"I can take care of myself!"

"And so can we," Claudia insisted. "We shouldn't be shuffled around like dolls, Brother, we can be of use to you and the-"

"You can be of _use_ by staying hidden so I don't have to worry about you!"

Claudia's eyes widened briefly; Maria giving a soft moan of resignation.

"Is that all we are to you?" Claudia demanded, her eyes narrow and her voice deceptively quiet. "A worry? How do you think _we_ feel, seeing you ride off at every opportunity, risking your life, never knowing if you'd come back, never knowing if you'd survive. How do you think it felt to have Ulderico shuffle us down to the Sanctuary while he went off and _died_?"

"_Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you different._"

"_Tell Federica her father died a hero_."

The memory hit Ezio like a blow.

"I promised him to look after you," he said in a broken voice. "I have to make sure you're safe."

"Is _that_ what you think you're doing?" his sister demanded, stepping forward and putting her hands on her hips. "Did you really think leaving us, leaving _me_ over and over again was _protecting_ me? Did you really think letters were enough? And what was your excuse when Federica came? Huh? What happened then, Ezio?"

Where was all of this coming from? What was Claudia on about? _And why was she here and not Firenze_? Ezio growled, taking another step forward, his rich baritone rising. "Claudia, you're _not_ safe here!"

"_I'm not safe anywhere!_" Claudia shrieked, her volume startling everyone in the room. Tears spilled down her face but she ignored them utterly. "Father is dead and nothing's been the same since then! Spain wasn't safe, France wasn't safe, _nowhere_ was safe and we were _trapped_ in Monteriggioni. How was that safe? And you left us over and over!" her voice cracked with emotion. "But I did it. I worked through it for you. For Mother. For _Zio_... I looked after Mother when she couldn't talk, I looked after Monteriggioni when nobody else would, and when I finally started to feel safe, when I finally found Ulderico, and Federica, when I finally thought everything would be okay..." She gave a deep, shuddering breath, cheeks red and wet and so pained that Ezio didn't know what to do anymore. "I'm not safe anywhere, Ezio," she sobbed. "The only place I'm safe now is with you. I have to stay here! We have nowhere else to go."

Her pain cut through Ezio so deeply his own eyes watered. His arms grabbed her shoulders, gripping her as if she would break like glass. She was just as broken as he was... Nothing he had done in the last twenty years to protect her had helped. None of the people he had killed, none of the acts he had performed, the sins he had committed, had spared her of her innocence. It had died along with his father and brothers, all those years ago. The vow he and Federico had made that no one would make her cry was broken, the innocence she had possessed had been ripped from her, and it was his fault because he could not look out for them and make the world safe for them at the same time. He had been forced to rely on Claudia to look after things so that he could go out and take his revenge, to free the world of the Borgia and the Templars so that they could themselves be free.

He had failed.

Again.

He had failed again...

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I couldn't stop it. I tried so hard..."

"Ezio..."

"But the world isn't safe for you yet. I need more time."

"... We can make it safe together," Claudia said, looking up to him. "Let me help..."

He shook his head, gently. "I can't let my _piccina_ be hurt any more than she already has."

And, to his horror, he saw her watery face suddenly harden.

"_ 'Piccina'_? _'Piccina_'?"

Abruptly, she shoved him away, startling him. "I'm nobody's 'little one,' not anymore! I haven't been for years. It's time you realized that!" Hissing, she turned to the two courtesans, forgotten in the argument. "You said you would close down if you don't find someone to run things? I'll do it."

… Wait. _What_?

Claudia, _Claudia_, his _piccina_, running a whorehouse? Of all the..!

"You do not belong here, Claudia."

His sister's eyes flashed, several expressions flitting over her face before she offered a bitter retort. "I know how to run a business. I ran Uncle Mario's for years."

No. No. This was _idiocy_. "This is different," he started to explain.

"No it isn't," she insisted.

Their mother, quiet up to now, offered a soft, "What alternative do you have, Ezio?"

"Don't tell me you can train these girls _and_ do everything else you plan on doing?" Claudia pressed.

And he couldn't. Ezio has just been dithering over the burden the brothel would be. The cold truth of it left him without breath, and the realization did _not_ help his mood. At all.

"What about Federica?" he demanded. "Have you forgotten your own daughter in your mad rush to prove yourself, '_piccina_'?" he added with a hoarse snarl.

Her reply was a brutal slap to the face. "Don't you dare," Claudia hissed. "Don't you _dare_ bring her into this when _you're_ the one that abandoned her on a whim!"

"_It was not a whim!_" Ezio shouted, fed up. "Ulderico told me to! He didn't want her to think she had two fathers with me always nearby! I was hurting her, I didn't want-"

"_You could never hurt her_!" Claudia shrieked, tears streaking down her face again, "And you're a fool for thinking otherwise! But you'll have to learn that the hard way. Good luck seeing her when she comes here-"

Ezio was aghast. "You're bringing her _here_?" he demanded, gesturing at the horrible excuse of a salle they were standing in. "You'd make yourself the _madonna_ of this whorehouse and _now_ you tell me you'll raise _Federica_ to sell herse-"

Another slap, to his other cheek this time. The two glared at each other, tension rippling through them.

How had this happened? How had Ezio let his family down so _badly_ that everything he was trying to protect was falling down around his ears?

But... no. He couldn't take the blame for this. If his sister wanted to be taken seriously, if she no longer wanted to be considered his _piccina_, then she would have to live with the consequences of her own decisions.

Fine.

"You do this Claudia," he said, his rich baritone low and threatening, "and you are on your own."

"I've been on my own for twenty years," she answered, crossing her arms.

"..._Fine_. I intend to repair the brothel," he said, gesturing to the bordello, its thick perfumes and poor performances. "This place is a real mess. And I want your whores to find Caterina Sforza," he added pointing to his sister. "If you can even get them to perform adequately enough to get inside the papal courts. You wanted this Claudia. Well, now you have it."

"You can count on us," she said softly, bitterly, before looking away.

_ Fine!_ Ezio stormed out of the whorehouse, utterly spent and completely unable to understand how things had somehow managed to get to this point.

"Ezio..."

He turned to see his mother. Pausing to let her catch up, she looked up to him with eyes as tired as his. "You cannot let this get between you."

"And what exactly is 'this,' Mother?"

"Oh, Ezio," she sighed. "This has been growing for years; I tried to tell you. Just... Don't give up on her so easily. She will surprise you." Cupping his cheek in her hand, she guided him down for a gentle kiss. "Trust her," she whispered, before turning back and going into the brothel.

* * *

The next couple of weeks had Ezio meeting with Matteo and architects to set up the Rosa in Fiore, but Claudia very firmly said that Ezio was only there to pay them, as she had her own ideas on how to improve the brothel and make it more appealing. The brothel was closed during that time and while Ezio was managing the finances, Claudia said she had a good chance to start really training the courtesans.

Ezio scowled at the very idea and left her to it, not wanting to imagine what his sister knew of whoring.

Instead he wrote letters. Now that he was more or less settled in Rome, it was time to let his allies knew where he was. No doubt word of the fall of Monteriggioni had reached them and they'd be worried. Machiavelli had likely sent word, but Ezio wished to pass on some personal pleasantries as well. And offer some _firm_ words to Paola about letting Claudia and his mother come to Rome.

Matteo seemed amazed by the web of accounts Ezio used for his financing, and was eager to learn more on how to manage such books and make it invisible to any prying eyes. Admittedly, Claudia and their old banker from Monteriggioni, Romeo, would be a better choice for teaching him, but Ezio was well-versed in finance himself. His lack of interest growing up didn't stop his father from teaching him, and managing finances with Claudia for twenty years for their little Villa and town had firmly entrenched banking into Ezio's blood.

He also spent time out on the streets, continuing to become a familiar face on Tiber Island and the surrounding area. Not as an Assassin, but as someone who helped. If a person was struggling with a horse, Ezio calmed the animal down and guided it for a while, chatting with the person. If a mother was trying to corral her children, Ezio helped, entertaining them with quick sleight of hand that pickpockets were often good at. If a man was arguing with a neighbor about who had rights to something, Ezio would mitigate the dispute and find a middle ground. All free of charge, with a friendly smile.

The people were distrustful at first, of course. But Ezio knew trust would come with time. And with it, people looking for favors. And from there, he could start seeking small payments to help him restock.

It was half way through February when having a meeting with Machiavelli that the diplomat mentioned that Bartolomeo was in Rome.

"Really?" Ezio asked, surprised. "He's always been in Venezia."

Machiavelli snorted. "Venezia has allied with France. They'll be up to something, but for now they're helping Cesare prepare for something. Bartolomeo and his men have left Venezia for now. He's set up barracks here in the city."

Ezio smiled. Bartolomeo was a boisterous, loud, aggressive mercenary loyal to the Assassins. With his massive sword Bianca, the man could mow down a squad entirely on his own or set them crying home with just his foul language and creative cursing. The mercenary was a good ally and friend, and Ezio planned to look him up.

The following day he checked in with Dante, as scheduled ("You're not going to aggravate that shoulder any more, _right_?") and was pleased to learn his stitches could be removed and that his side was almost completely healed. ("Your shoulder is a different matter! You keep doing something to it!")

From there he walked off Tiber to a nearby stable he'd been helping at from time to time.

"_Messere_!" the stableman, Salvatore, greeted. "Welcome, welcome, what brings you here today?"

Ezio smiled, taking a brush and starting to brush down a horse. "I'm actually in need of a favor," he said, "but I don't want to put you out. I know times are difficult under the Borgia."

"No problem," Salvatore smiled back. "You've saved me a few florins by helping out so much. People are starting to notice my horses are better than the nags the Borgia offer with the brushing you always give them."

"I just need a horse for a few days," Ezio replied. "I've heard a friend is here in Roma and wish to visit, but he's out in the fields."

"Ah, I can see why you'd need a horse just to get there and it'd be far too long to ride back," Salvatore nodded. "And to visit! You need more than a few hours! Yes, take this one," he pulled out a sturdy mare, "she can canter all day long and not tire."

"I must offer payment," Ezio reached for his purse.

"Nonsense! You've been helping me get business. You've already paid!"

Ezio smiled. Progress was indeed being made. Hopefully with the business coming in, Ezio would be able to find a good stable boy, make an introduction, and business would continue to prosper. But for now, he mounted, settled in the saddle and smiled to Salvatore. "I'll be back by the end of the week."

"_Bene_. I'll let people know. They'll miss you."

Ezio grinned.

It took most of the day to ride out to Bartolomeo's barracks, which were far out in the fields surrounding Roma, overlooking a sunken lake. The barracks themselves were... less than ideal. The Venetian had obviously bought old barracks, and the disrepair was obvious. Framing was exposed, leaving the upper stories open to the elements, the stables were poorly kept. The surrounding wall was in similar states, crumbling in areas and hardly looking sturdy. A few mercenaries were in front, lazing about and not even training. They should be handling minor chores if not learning. What was Bartolomeo doing?

Looking around with a critical eye Ezio knocked.

Bartolomeo himself opened the door, not a captain or sergeant. "Ezio Auditore!" Bartolomeo threw his arms open wide with his boisterous greeting. "Come in, come in. I'll kill you if you don't."

Ezio smiled, pushing aside his impressions of the barracks. "Bartolomeo!" They hugged and Bartolomeo surged around the room, attempting to clean up what was clearly a mess.

"Wait here," the Venetian said, smiling broadly. "You have to meet my wife."

Wife? Ezio had not been aware of his friend marrying. But then, the last ten years Ezio had been in the saddle crisscrossing all of Italy searching for the Apple. It's no surprise he'd been out of touch.

"Pantasilea! Pantasilea! Where is she?"

Ezio was struck of by his first meeting of Bartolomeo in Venice, cursing out the guards and the return to his barracks in the floating city and calling out for Bianca, his massive broadsword.

Holding back his chuckle, Ezio asked, "Did you check behind the table?" with full irony as that was where Bianca had been all those years ago.

The joke flew over Bartolomeo, however. "Ahhh. Here she is!" Elegantly coming up from the stairs a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties, easily, with the grace and poise.

She curtsied delicately. "Nice to meet you."

Ezio took her hand and kissed it with the same grace she showed. "Charmed," he greeted, with far less sarcasm than when he'd greeted Bianca. "Truly."

She smiled and bowed her head, then turned to her husband and held his arm. "Bartolomeo," she said softly. "Little Lucrezia is picking on Isabella again."

The Venetian mercenary gave a great laugh. "That's my girl! Oh, but Isabella isn't big enough to fight back yet. Girls!" Bartolomeo took off with a bounce in his step of a far younger man. "What are you doing!"

Ezio smiled. "I did not know he had married, nor that he'd become a father."

"You were in Spain, I believe, when we met," Pantasilea replied, offering him a seat at a beaten table. "Stubborn oaf took three years to propose. Eighteen was pushing past marriageable age, but I insisted to my family that no one else was suitable."

Chuckling, Ezio shook his head. "I can't picture him married. He's far too much like a little boy sometimes."

She smiled demurely. "It's what I love about him. His zest for life. Everything is fun for him. It wasn't for me, not before I met him. He was my way out of that life. That pain."

"I'd hate to be the suitor of one of those girls once they reach marrying age."

Pantasilea smiled more broadly. "Oh, I look forward to it. He'll see to it that they marry who they want. They won't have to fight like I did."

Two girls came racing in, one barely a toddler and another reaching seven or eight, dressed in pants instead of skirts, much like Federica would prefer, giggling and screaming as Bartolomeo came after them like a bumbling ox. "See?" he hollered. "Teamwork! That's how to do it!'

The toddler crawled up to her mother's lap and the older one ran back to the mercenary for a giant hug.

"Girls, meet Ezio Auditore! A great man and much smarter than me!"

The oldest girl protested vehemently. "Only Mother is smarter than you!"

"That is true!"

Ezio laughed.

"You must stay for dinner! Our cook is horrible, but he's getting better with practice."

The day was spent with Bartolomeo going through the barracks and catching up. The mercenary regaled Ezio with many, many stories of his wife and children as they walked among the men. Ezio eyed their training critically, noting that many were doing nothing at all, and those who were getting trained had to wait before the solitary drill master could come to them. Where were Bartolomeo's seasoned veterans? They'd be useful in training and setting up the barracks here. And the recruits were skinny and impoverished. Clearly not ready for the physical endurance that such training required.

At dinner, Ezio brought up his concerns. "My friend, where are your men? Those with you from Venezia?"

"Up in Romagna, helping them fight off the Borgia and the French and the Venetians," Bartolomeo explained.

"Fighting so outnumbered?" Ezio replied.

"No, not really fighting," Bartolomeo replied. "They're keeping an eye on Cesare's movements. I don't trust the bastard. I managed to wound his face four years ago when fighting with the Orsini. I hear the pretty whore wears a beard now to cover it." The mercenary smiled.

Ezio raised a brow. "Do you need _all_ of your men there to keep an eye on Cesare?"

"Of course! He's a slippery shit-stain that's sliding all over _Italia_."

Ezio tried not to wince. Instead he glanced at Pantasilea, who looked just as pained over this stupid move.

This was going to be a long week.

The following day, Ezio declined joining Bartolomeo, saying that as the commander of the barracks, he needed to attend to his men. Bartolomeo agreed and Ezio instead spent the day talking with Pantasilea as she tended to the accounts and the girls.

"I love my husband dearly," she said, "but he has such an aggressive view of the world. It's endearing, and wins him many battles. However, strategy is equally important."

Ezio grinned. "And I sense that perhaps his more spectacular wins are due to your strategy?"

"It is the least a wife can do for her husband," she said eloquently. "But where he listens to strategy of war, he doesn't understand strategy of recruitment."

Ezio nodded. "These barracks hardly look like they belong to as successful a man as Bartolomeo."

"Indeed," Pantasilea nodded, sending Lucrezia to the kitchens for a snack for them all. "Growing up as strictly as I did, I learned that presentation is everything. Bartolomeo's presence is strong and if you listen to him, you can easily see how good he is at what he does. But these barracks undermine that. The recruits we have aren't ready for this. They just want to learn how to fight." She sighed. "I wish he didn't send all of his men to Romagna. A dozen or so would do. The rest could help train the recruits here, share stories and inspire them. To say nothing of teaching them the basics of the chores mercenaries do around a camp."

Ezio chuckled. "But Bartolomeo doesn't see that."

"No," she said. "I've suggested it to him, but he's brushing it aside. He sees my strategies on the field and the immediate benefits. He doesn't see them here."

"We'll have to work on that," Ezio replied. "How are your finances?"

"Tied up in feeding and equipping," she replied, pulling out accounts. "We haven't had a contract yet, though I expect with the French we will soon."

"I can help," Ezio replied, thinking of his own finances. He still had no money coming in, but Bartolomeo couldn't keep working like this. "I can finance repairing and expanding this structure at least and you can show recruits that this is a _new_ set of barracks and a sign of expansion."

"That would help," she smiled. "Now how do we convince him?"

"That is easy."

The next morning, Ezio took Bartolomeo up to the exposed beams that were starting to show sign of rot on the upper floors.

"Where are your daughters?" he asked, wanting to make sure they were safe. Pantasilea was out with the cook, going over supplies.

"Looking after the horses," the mercenary replied. "They love playing in the stables."

Good. With one swift kick, Ezio completely knocked apart one of the beams and the roof sank inward.

"Ezio!"

"I think it's time you repair your barracks," Ezio said in full Florentine irony. "Unless you like rain and snow coming in this winter."

"Hmmm," Bartolomeo rubbed his chin. "You may have a point. But I'm no good with these things. You're the educated one, you approve the plans!"

"Bartolomeo!" Pantasilea came running up. "Some of the men are brawling!"

"_Scusatemi_, Ezio," the Venetian grunted, hurrying down the stairs. "Throw me Bianca!"

And the elegant, dainty Pantasilea easily hefted the sword and grunted as she threw it. Ezio was impressed.

Out in the yard, three were up against two, at Ezio's best guess. They were so piled on top of each other, with a circle of crowing recruits around that it was hard to say with certainty.

"_Luridi codari_!" Bartolomeo bellowed, running through the crowd with his sword held high. The circle quickly parted and the Venetian brought his sword down hard on the ground mere inches from two participants who were about to attack one another. The fright scared sense into them and they backed off. Bartolomeo continued to wade through the brawl, using the pommel of his sword when necessary to knock someone away or swinging between combatants to get attention. Once everyone was separated, Bartolomeo threw Bianca and Pantasilea caught it carefully in her arms, not even ripping her dress.

Now that everyone was staring, Bartolomeo looked around, staring everyone in the eye. "You're all a bunch of tight-legged nuns!" he spat. "You're here to _learn_, to get the skills you need to fight the _Borgia_, not each other like my children do!" He spun to one of the brawlers. "Giovanni, the Borgia took your sister from you, yes?"

One eye swelling shut and nose bleeding, the man nodded.

"Well save your anger for them!" He rounded on another. "Francois, the French abandoned you because of Borgia treachery! Pedro, the Borgia left your family in ruins back in Spain! Bernardo! Federico! Carlo! Lorenzo! All of you are here because you _hate_ the Borgia, but none of you are willing to _learn_!" Bartolomeo was on a roll now, shouting out like a general. "Well the Borgia can suck my balls then eat my shit and drink my piss! I'll teach you how to fight and we'll fight them once they're on the move, but if each of you wants to slice off a piece of Cesare's _cazzo_ or Rodrigo's testicles, you need to learn how to get there. Now, who wants to learn how to kill the Borgia?"

Everyone around him cheered and the Venetian took them all to drills, showing of skills himself with the drill instructor.

Pantasilea slipped beside Ezio. "He can handle them now because they all do have a common goal. But as they get better, they'll need more than him for discipline."

"He's agreed to repair the barracks, but we need to convince him to bring some of his veterans back," Ezio nodded.

They watched Bartolomeo swing practice sticks slowly with the drill instructor, shouting out the times to get the rhythm, then pairing up recruits and getting them on beat. Bartolomeo stalked among them, correcting forms and shuffling feet and talking to each, but he could not do all this every day _and_ manage the barracks and the information Ezio would need.

Pantasilea turned with a sly smile to Ezio. "Do a bout with him."

Ezio blinked. "Oh?"

"Show the recruits what a full battle is like," she explained. "Let them see and get excited. Get enthusiastic. And mention to my dear husband that such displays from veterans might be a good idea."

Ezio smiled. "You are a true master of strategy," he bowed.

"_Anything_ to help my husband," she said with an elegant, sincere smile.

So the Florentine Assassin stepped forward.

"Bartolomeo, my old friend," Ezio called. "Why not show these boys what a _true_ fight looks like?"

The mercenary looked up and grinned widely. "You challenge me, Ezio? Are you prepared for me to show what a weeping vagina you are?"

Ezio shrugged. "Only if you're willing for your men to see what a slow ox you are."

"Oh-ho! The man thinks he can best me!" Bartolomeo's smile seemed to widen. "I do enjoy a challenge."

The recruits circled again as Ezio joined Bartolomeo by the shabby but sturdy practice wands.

"And no fancy armor?" Bartolomeo jeered.

Ezio frowned, remembering the intricate armor of Altair that was light as leather but offered more protection than he'd ever imagined. "No," he replied with forced levity. "I need no armor for you'll never hit me."

They circled each other carefully, watching for weaknesses. Ezio knew his shoulder wasn't healed, so he used one hand for his sword and crouched, ready for anything. Bartolomeo was more energetic, despite being older, constantly circling. The first to strike was the Venetian, hollering and charging in, which Ezio easily parried and danced away from. He attempted a counter attack, but Bartolomeo brushed it aside with brute force and Ezio backpedaled, blocking another blow.

The men around them quickly realized that these were both seasoned fighters. Bets started to change hands, jeers and cheers echoed, and the energy from earlier seemed to increase exponentially. While Ezio doubted Bartolomeo's veterans sparring would be as good as Ezio facing off with the Venetian, Pantasilea was right. This would convince Bartolomeo to recall most of his men to help train all the recruits.

Ezio ducked under a heavy swing from Bartolomeo and tried to tap the Venetian's shoulder, but Bartolomeo changed directions quickly, bringing his practice wand down _hard_ on Ezio's left shoulder. Agony turned his vision white and instinct had him kicking Bartolomeo in the balls before his sword came to the Venetian's neck, stopping only by Bartolomeo somehow grabbing the practice wand through his own pain.

Both were gasping and sweating, and Ezio quickly dropped the wooden wand and peeled back his shirt to see that blood was starting to seep through his bandages. "_Merda_," he hissed.

Bartolomeo couldn't speak, but he was staring at Ezio through squinting, watering eyes. The crowd was silent around them as Pantasilea rushed forward, checking on her husband first before looking to Ezio. Upon seeing the blood, she turned to the crowd. "Giovanni! Fresh bandages, now! Lorenzo, Pedro, help me carry Ezio inside!"

"I can walk," Ezio grunted, still trying to contain his pain.

"Those fucking Borgia!" Bartolomeo finally growled, still holding himself. "How! How did they get you! You'd _never_ fall to their men, you're too damn good!"

"Surely you heard what happened to Monteriggioni," Ezio hissed back. "Even I cannot fight off an army that took us by surprise."

"But that was over a month ago!"

"And being _shot_ by these new guns takes longer to heal," Ezio shouted back. He could smell Monteriggioni burning again and he didn't want to think about it. Not with Bartolomeo's recruits surrounding him and Bartolomeo and looking at them in awe.

"Shall we continue the discussion inside?" Pantasilea suggested in prim and proper tones. Both Ezio and Bartolomeo nodded and Ezio walked like this was natural and showing none of his pain that was blazing hotly through him while the two Pantasilea had called helped Bartolomeo up and to the barracks.

Inside, Ezio stripped his shirt with far too eased practice of only using one arm and displayed the bandage beneath and the blood slowly seeping through. Dante wasn't going to be pleased to see this. Bartolomeo, Pantasilea, and the two who had helped Ezio in gasped. But Ezio ignored them and once more with ease of practice, took a clean cloth, washed the wound on both sides of his body and rebandaged himself with the offered cloth.

"I never should have fought you..." Bartolomeo said quietly.

"Think nothing of it," Ezio grunted, still hurting, but not so fiercely any more.

"You were right..." Giovanni muttered.

"What?" Bartolomeo said sharply.

Giovanni stuttered for a moment. "You said a trained man, even wounded, was fiercer than a lion."

"Yes!" Bartolomeo shouted. "Which is why you drill and drill to you can strike even when blinded by pain!"

"Yes, sir!" the recruits said in unison.

"Then what are you standing around here for? Go and drill!"

"Yes, sir!" They ran out.

They were silent for a moment, Ezio rewrapping his shoulder and then shrugging his shirt back on. "You need help, Bartolomeo."

"No," the Venetian said, still rubbing his balls, "everything is fine."

"Machiavelli seemed to think things were more difficult."

"You know Machiavelli," Bartolomeo grunted. "So dour-"

"Bartolomeo," Pantasilea cut in, putting a delicate hand on her husband's shoulder. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, and Ezio looked away, feeling like he was intruding.

"Fine, fine," the Venetian relented. "I'll call back some of my veterans. They can help whip these kids into proper shape."

"_Va bene_," Ezio nodded, strapping his hidden blade back on. "I still need to know Cesare and Rodrigo's every move. Can your men track them for me?"

"The way Cesare's stomping across _Italia_? Easily," Bartolomeo promised.

"Excellent. Now let's see if that cook of yours has improved at all for dinner."

* * *

Salvatore smiled broadly when Ezio returned the horse, not noticing how Ezio was careful with his arm. He shooed Ezio out, saying that Ezio needed to settle back home before helping him out anymore and Ezio gratefully left, checking in with Dante first.

"_What_ the _hell_ did you do _THIS_ time?" the doctor all but shouted once Ezio's bandages had been removed.

"Bandits," was Ezio's response, not desiring to get into the complicated story of what had actually happened.

"Damn followers of Romulus," Dante growled. "You'll _never_ heal at this rate, _Maestro_. You _must_ confine yourself to the city. I cannot in good conscious even let you leave bed for a month just so that it can heal, but you'd never listen to that."

"I will be careful with it," Ezio replied.

"Like hell," the doctor grunted. "But I'll _make_ you be careful."

Ezio didn't care for the sound of that, and cared for it even _less_ when Dante pulled out a strip of cloth and _tightly_ wrapped Ezio's arm, binding it to his body, and tying the knot back between his shoulder blades where he couldn't reach.

"There," Dante stood back proud. "If you hope to clean your wound, you need to see me every day to undo that. That way we can make sure you _don't_ break that open any more."

And, as much as Ezio hated the bindings, he couldn't help but chuckle at Dante's persistence in seeing to his health. He'd simply have to train himself to climb with only one arm.

He spent a week staying on Isola Tiberina, per Dante's express wishes, and did what he could. Several of the people he helped noticed his bound arm and were quick to start helping him, though he politely refused. An afternoon with Matteo had funding sent to Pantasilea for the barracks, and Machiavelli spent a quick dinner with him before heading back to Florence for more diplomatic and official reasons.

The following week, as February came to its chill close, Ezio headed into the streets of Rome with a particular destination in mind.

The _Rosa in Fiore_ had new gardens forming up on the roof and plush red drapes were clearly visible through the windows that were now sparkling. Outside, courtesans were sensuously speaking with one another, delicately swaying a fan, or leaning over enticingly. There was much more subtlety about their movements and a demure glance out of the corner of an eye had easily three men and the occasional woman turning to look again.

Lucia recognized Ezio right away and sashayed up to him, taking his arm and quickly leaning to his ear, making even in Ezio's well-practiced loins a fire start to warm. He squelched it quickly and smiled at her with his usual charm.

"_Messere_," she greeted. "Your sister and mother have truly done wonders here."

"It certainly looks better."

Lucia gave a light giggle, making a passing nobleman turn and look again. "The brothel was always popular, but we had no hope to compete with anyone else other than our closeness to the Vatican. Now, we are flourishing."

Ezio chuckled. "You will always make a man rise to the occasion."

"With more ease every day."

She brought him inside, and Ezio had to admit to being impressed. There had not been much need of full construction, other than the gardens above, but Claudia had clearly spent his money redressing the interiors. The new drapes he'd seen outside were mirrored with new carpets and gleaming candelabras that had clearly been just-polished. Marble sparkled without any dust or dirt and there was a warm inviting glow everywhere Ezio looked. The courtesans were nowhere to be seen, other than one who was sitting at a bench with a priest's head between her legs, identity obscured with the folds of her skirts. But though she was the only courtesan one could see, one could certainly _hear_ the work the others were doing. There was a scream of passion from one of the above rooms and the distinct bounce of beds echoing through the floors.

"Come this way, _Messere_," Lucia whispered, guiding him forward past a courtesan who was at the counter to great guests, one large breast exposed as if her loose corset had just fallen open. The greeter giggled, brushing her breast alluringly as she pulled up her corset, and Ezio felt his manhood desire what was offered. But he pushed that aside again. He had never needed to pay for women, nor did he intend to here, no matter how desirable. But Ezio was predicting that he was going to find a widow or unmarried girl later that evening for a long night of passion.

Lucia squeezed her breasts to his arm again.

A _long_ night of passion.

Either way, though he didn't wish to think of it, Claudia had clearly done a good job training the girls here. The smells were delicate and relaxing, not overpowering, and the brothel was clearly starting to prosper.

Lucia led him to a small back office where Claudia was set over a heavy book and crosschecking something or other.

His guide smiled sincerely at him, and left on silent feet.

"It seems my money was well invested," he said by way of greeting.

His sister looked up, startled. "Oh!" and then she frowned. "Ezio. Well I should think it obvious I'd spend _our_ money wisely. I'm repaying it already."

"Good," Ezio nodded. "I just signed a large amount to Bartolomeo's wife so they can improve their barracks."

Claudia just nodded and formally gestured to the seat across from her. Ezio sat down, carefully arranging his shoulder and the heavy knot Dante used to bind his arm so that it didn't dig into his back. Claudia watched him, sympathy flashing across her face, but did not comment.

"I'm sure Bartolomeo can use the money," Claudia said. "I didn't even know he was in Roma."

"Nor I," Ezio replied.

They fell to silence again.

Ezio sighed, not liking how awkward it was. He missed how close he'd been with his sister, but if she really wanted to do this on her own, he _refused_ to help. It was like a vast gap had appeared between them and he didn't know how to bridge it.

"Federica will come next month," Claudia said, attempting to start conversation again.

"And she will be staying here?" Ezio gestured around sarcastically.

Claudia narrowed her eyes. "No, she will be staying at my apartment a few streets over. Mother will look after her, mostly, and I'll be sending some of my girls."

He scowled. "To teach an eleven-year-old the ways to pleasure a man?"

"_No_," she growled. "To teach her about the Assassins. To teach her how to hide in plain sight, how to hear, how to defend herself."

"Defense?" Ezio drew out. "And what do these whores know of defense?"

Claudia glared at him before standing, stomping over to a chalkboard, and slamming it down in front of him. "This is what all my girls are to practice, every day."

It was an impressive list. How to hide daggers in bodices or hair ornaments, how to walk silently, how to disappear in a crowd, how to coax information out of someone in simple conversation instead of pillow-talk, a list of stretches to remain limber that also doubled as a fighting form in a pinch, exercises to keep arms strong without being overly muscled, how long to walk out in the streets each day to keep a running endurance up, it was amazing how much Claudia had packed into that small chalkboard and it was all to be practiced every day. None of it had to do with how to fuck someone, and all of it he approved of teaching Federica.

Of course, he couldn't say that to Claudia. He refused to encourage her.

"You are not teaching them much."

Claudia's face reddened, but she instead took a breath. "Think you can do better?"

"No problem," he replied. "Are they all working, or are there some free courtesans I can do a small lesson with today?"

"Oh, this I must see," Claudia smiled broadly.

The afternoon ended up quite... interesting after that. In the kitchens, Ezio decided to go over the basics of poisons, how to spot them, and how to make them for their knives or daggers. Claudia, it seemed, had set forth a challenge to the girls to distract him as much as they could. So with every leaf he pointed out, or leaned forward to show someone, one or more of the courtesans were drawing his eye to a breast or thigh, or in one case, a completely exposed ass that he blithely ignored as he focused on his lesson and kept their attention on what he was doing and how long certain poisons lasted and what their affects were.

That night, however, Ezio did indeed flirt his way into a widow's house and, despite only having one arm, screwed her repeatedly till dawn and most of the next morning, to relieve the effects of Claudia's girls.

* * *

It was the start of the second week of March when Ezio finally found a thief of decent talent. During his wanderings along the west bank of the Tibre River, helping a local baker by delivering some bread to a builder who was recuperating from a broken ankle, Ezio noticed that in the shadows, he saw the vague movements of someone with decent skill. Not as good as he himself could be, but a talent nonetheless. Looking around, it didn't take much to find the richest home of the area.

Ezio smirked to himself.

He delivered the bread, and slipped into the shadows himself, completely invisible, despite his white clothing, due to Antonio and Volpe beating lessons of stealth into his thick skull. He stayed in the darkness, observing the house he was sure thieves were hitting. As darkness continued to settle, he switched to his other vision, the sharpness of an eagle. Within an hour, he saw a gold flash of a person diving out a window to a lower roof and taking off along the worn vacant buildings with a flicker of gold tracing along behind him.

Ezio didn't pause to realize that his Eagle Vision was improving, but instead followed stealthily along the streets, since his bound arm would be useless for the climbing he'd need to get to the roof swiftly. The thief went steadily east before crossing the river and turning south. Ezio stayed behind, easily keeping up and staying hidden, until the thief at last arrived at an abandoned building that had shadows that moved and flitted like training thieves Ezio had worked with back in Venice.

Someone here could tell him who was in charge and at last, he'd have his underground network complete.

Ezio stepped forward, no longer hiding his presence and slowly moved forward, keeping it clear that while armed, he was no threat. Up at the door of the building, before he could even knock, a voice came from the darkness and the shadows formed to a violet-eyed man that Ezio know quite well.

"Ezio!" he greeted with a soft chuckle.

"La Volpe," Ezio nodded back. "I am surprised to see you. I thought dear Firenze was your preferred prowl."

The thief chuckled, crossing his arms. "I go where the best opportunities arise. Firenze provided that for a very long time. But now all the money is here in Roma."

"I should have known," Ezio grinned in the moonlight.

"So?" Volpe asked. "Why have you appeared at my door?" he asked lightly. "Wait, I know the answer."

"You always do."

"You want to put my spies to work," Volpe answered, all joviality lost.

"Yes, you always had the best in all of Italia."

"You flatter me, yet state the truth," Volpe agreed, gesturing, the two sat on a nearby bench, still in plain view of all the thieves in the shadows. Ezio frowned. This wasn't like his old friend.

"Then, join me. The Borgia need to be taken down and what was stolen must be returned."

Volpe scoffed. "In aiding Machiavelli? No, thank you," he said coldly.

Ezio blinked, not expecting the reaction. "Oh?"

"That man is a traitor to our Order."

The Florentine Assassin frowned severely at that, straightening. "A serious allegation, coming from a thief and especially from you." Volpe's abilities to sneak into the most guarded of treasuries or offices and getting whatever document or jewel he sought was legendary. He always had the most accurate of information and had a knack on feeling where to go for the next lead when searching the trail of something. It was these abilities Ezio needed for finding the Apple. But for Volpe to be so convinced of Machiavelli's betrayal, it was serious.

Ezio would be the first to admit that the Florentine diplomat was standoffish, dour, and had a tongue to rival Caterina in sharpness and wit. It was a wonder how he became a diplomat given how often he could insult people. But Machiavelli would not have become an Assassin if he didn't believe in the Creed. Ezio was certain that his fellow Florentine was just as determined to take down the Borgia as himself. They disagreed philosophically on how, but that was just method.

To be a traitor?

"What is your proof?"

Volpe scowled. "He was an ambassador to the Papal court and traveled as the personal guest of Cesare himself." The thief leaned forward, hands on his knees, and cupped his chin with his hands. "I also know he abandoned you right before the Villa attack."

Ezio blinked again. "Really?"

Volpe nodded. "After the diversion we did here in Roma, I hurried after you to Monteriggioni to give my own report and find out what had happened in the Vatican. I saw Machiavelli riding away."

"He did not care to hear that I had let the Spaniard live."

The thief's mouth thinned. "I do not care for it either, but I'd have heard your reasoning."

"It doesn't matter now."

"No, I suppose not," Volpe continued to frown. "But he was beating his horse to hurry along through the night. I thought nothing of it at the time other than strange, but by dawn, I arrived to see Monteriggioni _burning_."

Ezio shuddered at the memory, his good hand reaching up to his bound shoulder. Ear flying. A passionate goodbye. Fire, burned flesh, smoke, explosions, collapses. The memories swept over Ezio unbidden and he pushed them away.

"Machiavelli may not please all tastes, but he is an Assassin, not a traitor," Ezio said quietly. He felt that. He could not prove it, but he felt it.

"I am not convinced."

"Then don't work with him. Work with me."

Volpe frowned, but said nothing as a thief detached himself from the shadows and came up to Volpe, whispering so quietly that even Ezio's keen ears could only pick up intonations, not actual words.

The master thief turned, smiling. "It would seem that our fellow Florentine will be meeting someone in an hour in the Trastevere. Care to accompany me?"

To prove Volpe wrong? "I will follow."

The two melded into the shadows and headed out. Normally, Volpe made a race of it with Ezio, but it seemed the thief was being respectful of Ezio's injury and keeping the pace steady but not tiring.

Trastevere, the _rione _of the west bank. It took most of the hour to get there, and once they found the small market, Volpe took Ezio through another abandoned building up to a broken down second floor that had no roof to speak of. Around them, Ezio watched the roofline fill with thieves keeping an eye on the empty market down below.

"They are not as stealthy as you," Ezio commented.

Volpe shrugged. "As if anyone other than you can be."

Ezio smiled. Despite the suspicions of Machiavelli, the two of them at least remained friends.

A torch came down an alley and Machiavelli arrived, glancing around before dousing the flame by throwing it down the well. He stayed in the moonlight, still as a statue, and the thieves all stayed flat on the rooftops, not moving either. Together, all of them waited for almost twenty minutes before another torch came down the street.

It was a Borgia guard, glancing around, and keeping a hand firmly on a pouch.

"What do you make of that," Volpe whispered in Ezio's ear as they watched the guard enter the market and look down every alley and entrance before walking up to Machiavelli. Silently a message of some kind was given to Machiavelli before he walked on as if nothing happened, continuing his patrol.

"Machiavelli does have men in the Papal guard," Ezio whispered softly. "Fabio Orsini has no love for the Borgia and is supporting us as much as he can."

Down below Machiavelli stalked off into the shadows, not even using a torch, as he went down a different alley than the one he'd come down before.

The guard, however, bumped into a different patrol of Borgia, who pulled out their swords.

There might have been a scuffle if thieves did not descend down from the roofs, their daggers cutting easily into the Borgia. Machiavelli's contact went down with the others, but not before injuring one of the thieves.

The noise of the encounter, however, had other Borgia in the area coming.

"Help!" the young thief called out, clutching his shoulder.

"Volpe!" a thief shouted from across the street. "My son Claudio!"

"Don't worry, Trimalchio," Volpe hissed back. He turned to Ezio. "I will distract the guards. You get Claudio out of here."

"_Bene._"

Volpe dashed across the roofs with Trimalchio and the other thieves and Ezio rushed back down the way he'd come and out into the market.

"Quickly, we must hide from the guards," he said, helping the wounded thief up.

But young Claudio was in a panic. "I cannot! They are going to kill me!"

Ezio cuffed the boy's head. "Pay attention!" he admonished. "Do what I do."

"_Si, Messere_," Claudio grunted.

First thing Ezio needed to do was find a hidden place to set up what they needed. So he pulled the young thief to the abandoned building and through it to a back street and then into another abandoned building. Inside, he pulled out a candle and lit it, leaning in to take a good look at Claudio's wound. It was bleeding steadily, but was not deep. Blood loss would be the worst concern if Ezio didn't stop the bleeding.

He pulled out his knife and reached to the twine that bound his arm so fully, cutting it and freeing his arm. He then used the twine to tie what clean cloth Ezio could rip around the wound, the blood slowed, and Ezio checked his handiwork. It would have to do for now. Stitches would likely be required, but he didn't have the time or materials to do that now. Instead, pulled Claudio from the building, blowing out his candle, and down another alley and another until they were well away from the center of activity with Volpe and his men dealing with the Borgia.

Wincing and pained at the pulling, Ezio flung his left arm around Claudio's shoulders, his half cape covering the blood-spattered clothes and let the young thief lean on him.

"I don't suppose you know any good drinking songs," he whispered.

"I-_what_?"

"No? Very well." Taking a breath, Ezio started on a familiar drinking song, knowing that his voice was probably breaking every ear who heard him. He stumbled and swayed like a drunkard, and messed up the words as he slurred along. Claudio caught on to the act and did a passable interpretation of drunkenness, but Ezio's exuberance made up for Claudio's shortcomings in acting.

Dawn was lightening the sky and the early workers were starting to fill the streets. Bakers were starting their ovens, farmers were bringing in their crops, and butchers were tending to their pigs and cows before selecting what to slaughter for the day.

Ezio and Claudio barely even drew an eye as they stumbled their way along the streets, slowly heading east.

When they reached the river, Ezio stole a boat and painfully took the two across and setting the boat out again to let it drift downriver.

Once out in the fields, Ezio stopped his drunken demeanor and focused on just helping Claudio along. A farmer, his cart full of hay, offered them a ride when Ezio recounted a tale of how the Followers of Romulus had ambushed them and made off with their horses. Ezio checked Claudio's wound then rewrapped it as they continued south.

The farmer let them off when Claudio started to recognize the buildings that Ezio had not seen well at night and the two continued back to the hide out.

The abandoned building was still in shade, the morning light rising. At the door, Trimalchio was pacing back and forth in worry and then raced forward when Ezio and the young thief rounded the bend.

"Claudio!" the father checked over his son, biting words of worry dripping from his lips before he turned to Ezio. "_Molte grazie, Messere. Molte grazie_."

Ezio nodded. "Keep out of sight for a while, understood?"

"_Si, si_, come on Claudio. Let's get some rest and then, a doctor!"

Volpe stepped forward, shaking his head under his brown hood. "What a night this has been."

They stayed in silence for a moment, the sun still rising before Ezio turned to his old friend. "Volpe, listen to me. I know what we saw," and it didn't look ideal until one realized that Machiavelli had garnered allies within the Papal guard and military. "But you have nothing to fear from Machiavelli, I am sure of it." He just didn't have concrete proof.

Volpe said nothing for a moment, before sighing softly. "I have you to thank for saving Claudio's life. If you believe Machiavelli remains loyal to the Order, I will give him the benefit of the doubt." He turned his purple gaze to Ezio. "But I_ will_ keep an eye on him. Just to be safe."

"So what of the thieves?"

Volpe smiled. "If you need them, you come and get them. If I find anything, I will send word to you and only you. That way there is no doubt."

Ezio chuckled. "Very well. And how will you start gathering your information?"

Volpe looked back to the abandoned building. "We had plans to repair this. What do you think would attract Borgia but remain above suspicion?"

Ezio stared, thinking of it.

"Perhaps an inn?"

"Yes," Volpe nodded. "I like that idea."

"Then I will provide the funding." Paying for both the renovation here and at the barracks would likely drain Ezio, along with all the other purchases he'd been doing, but hopefully Claudia's brothel would help ease the depletion.

For now, he had to get back to Isola Tiberina and listen to Dante yell at him for straining his shoulder again.

* * *

The doctor was, thankfully, still asleep in the wee dawn hours when Ezio returned to the warehouse. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours, and he wanted very badly to just crawl into bed. However, he saw Machiavelli at the solitary desk of the space, taking notes from a book and several papers spread out at the station. Ezio looked at the man for a moment, thinking back to the back alley meeting. Being connected to the Borgia was damning, to be sure, but the Florentine diplomat already admitted having a small network of spies; that made the meeting innocuous at best. Still...

No. Machiavelli was an Assassin. If Ezio couldn't trust that, then he couldn't trust _anyone_, and he couldn't live like that; not after all the people who had trusted him and taught him, through example, the good of humanity. It had to start somewhere.

And Machiavelli had a right to know why the thieves wouldn't talk to him.

Ezio strode into the room, his rich baritone echoing off the empty walls. "Machiavelli. We must talk."

The diplomat looked up. "Yes," he said, standing up. "I secured something of great worth from one of my contacts: We now have the names of several Templar agents Cesare has recruited to terrorize Roma."

Ezio blinked. "What?"

"Cesare has a vast network of followers, loyal only to him, and he is not shy about sending them out into the populous to impose his will. I now have a list of names, and you can eliminate them one by one. It will save your friends the people, yes?"

The tone was snide at the end, contemptuous, and Ezio took a deep breath, ignoring the inevitable devolution to debate. Instead he absorbed the information. Where had he even _gotten_ such a list of names? "How do I find them?"

The diplomat winced. "I can only give you a general location for now; in time I hope they will become more specific. I suggest looking for signs of distress nearby. Perhaps you will uncover citizens who can point you in the right direction. My contact will continue searching for more names."

Ezio blinked, things clicking together. "This information..." he drew out, "came from a city guard?"

"Yes," Machiavelli answered before pausing, frowning as the question settled in his mind. "How did you know?"

… So _that_ had been the reason for the clandestine back alley meeting on the west bank; Volpe had not brought them to witness a betrayal, but rather to watch a Brother doing his work. This distrust... it was poison indeed, it had even – for the span of a moment – made Ezio doubt. Doubt was the one thing he could not afford, and he decided that he absolutely would _not_ spread it.

He gave an easy, charming grin. "Lucky guess. _Grazie_."

"_Maestro_, what did you _do_ to those bindings?"

Ezio took his scolding with dignity if not grace, letting the doctor redress his bandages and finally collapsing into a deep sleep. The next day he visited the banker again, and discovered that shelling out the money for Volpe _and_ Bartolomeo left him with exactly twenty-four florins to his name, when all was said and done. He had known the money would disappear quickly, but not _this_ quickly, and he sighed, pursing his lips and wondering just how long it would take to refill his accounts. He still needed to seed the money to set up Dante, and find a blacksmith, and even furnish the warehouse, to say nothing of simply _eating_ from day to day. He couldn't collect money from the businesses he had vaguely planned on investing in until he actually _did_ invest in those businesses. Without the money to do that... He sighed, deeply, and told himself to be patient.

Two days later he woke to find a pigeon tapping incessantly at his window. Still half asleep and utterly annoyed at being woken up, he opened the tiny window to shoo it away when it boldly flew inside, sweeping around the cavernous warehouse before landing at the desk. The behavior woke him up slightly, enough to make him see a note tied to its leg. A carrier pigeon? Trained to come to the _warehouse_? Confused, he took the message, the bird nipping at his fingers for food that he did not have.

The letter was from Pantasilea, neat and small script explaining that Machiavelli had been using pigeons for the longest time and wondering if they were switching to a different means of communication, given that Ezio had yet to utilize them. That left Ezio grilling Machiavelli about why he hadn't been informed of this sooner – he could have found Volpe so much _easier_ if he had known there was already a form of communication!

Machiavelli, in turn, offered a contemptuous frown. "Did Mario never use them?" he asked in a deceptively neutral voice.

And, in truth, Ezio didn't know. He didn't know because Mario gallivanted about Italy hither and yon, never in one place for too long, and rarely home long enough for Ezio to take notice of how he had conducted business. In fact, Ezio had never taken _interest_ in how his uncle had conducted business, and only now did he realize there was an entire world of teaching he had never taken the time to learn from his precious uncle. The pain of having lost that opportunity sent him to his sword, swinging one-armed at the stone pillar, ignoring Dante's narrow glares and working through his forms to keep himself from giving into the grief too deeply. That night he dreamed about the villa attack, and the death of his beloved Cristina and his family and all the lost opportunities. He had missed so much... and he could never get it back...

He awoke the next morning in a bitter, reticent mood, but forced himself to take a deep breath and move on. Terrible things had happened, but he would not let it rule his life, too many _good_ things had happened to allow it. He thought of his earliest memories of Cristina, trying to get her attention and fighting Vieri de' Pazzi to do so, chasing his brother Federico around the streets of Florence, the lectures from his father and the chess games with Petruccio, training with Antonio and Volpe in Venetian heat, adventures with his best friend Leonardo, his induction to the Brotherhood.

Calmer now, he wrote a letter to Volpe, Bartolomeo, and Claudia, asking all of them to meet him that night at Isola Tiberina to report their progress. He doubted the thief had much information, he had only just set his friend to task; but Claudia had over a month to worm her way into papal politics, and Bartolomeo already had several men tailing Cesare. Machiavelli... he didn't have a way to contact the diplomat. Another oversight, but he resolved to fix that when next he appeared. At least the man seemed to be dropping by on a semi-regular basis... perhaps to check up on his health? Ezio didn't know for sure.

He went out that afternoon to do more favors, keeping his ears to the ground and honing his picture of the city. Slavers were a big problem, people disappeared at regular intervals, it seemed, and the name Cento Occhi popped up whenever it happened. Ezio had heard the name from the courtesans, and wondered if Volpe knew anything about them. Renegades? Bodies appearing in the Tevere was common practice: enemies of Cesare Borgia often ended up there, but others as well. The Senate was talked over with a more than slight tone of cynicism, and nobody dared _mention_ Borgia's name for fear of retribution from the guards. Ezio silently killed one man harassing a mother, using ugly language and threats to take her daughter for himself. It was the loss of a throwing knife, and he _really_ didn't have the finances to just waste a weapon like that, but at the same time he couldn't stand by and do nothing as the guard was so obviously abusing his power. He remembered his friend Leonardo, accosted by a city guard and beaten in his own studio.

That had been his first kill. The memory made him smile, slightly.

Coming back to his bolthole, he saw Machiavelli by the door, obviously waiting for him. He wore a look of undisguised confusion, and locked eyes with the master assassin.

"Claudia, Bartolomeo and La Volpe are waiting for you inside," he said slowly, as if not quite believing his own words. "I can't imagine how you did it."

Ezio grinned. "Virtue, Machiavelli," he said with Florentine irony.

"... Virtue?"

Perhaps he would explain later.

Then again, perhaps not. Machiavelli needed to see it for himself, to come to his own conclusions, just as Ezio had with all of his teachers.

Inside, everyone was surrounding the single desk the warehouse had. Ezio only had two chairs so far, Claudia in one of them and Pantasilea in the other. Bartolomeo was at his wife's shoulder, regaling them with a tale of some exaggeration while Volpe watched from under the line of his hood. Pantasilea smiled and nodded, and Claudia was an interesting shade of pink with all the vulgar language the mercenary was using. An instinctive need to scold Bartolomeo was invoked with that obvious sign of discomfort, but Ezio grappled it and shook it off. She wanted in on this, she didn't want to be treated like his _piccina_, she didn't want to be coddled, so she would just have to deal.

It... was the only kindness he could offer.

Ezio walked in, Machiavelli flanking him, and watched as Volpe eyed the diplomat with a hard purple gaze. Claudia gave a defiant glare to her brother, demanding with her eyes that he stop Bartolomeo from his vulgarity, while said mercenary laughed at his own tale, oblivious to all the undercurrents in the room. Pantasilea sat perfectly straight, her face tight as the tension started to build in the room.

… What a Brotherhood he had.

Ezio realized that his headaches were far from over. He worked his jaw and started the meeting.

"What have you discovered?"

The mercenary went first. "That _bastardo_ Cesare is in the Castel Sant'Angelo with the Pope. My men say he'll be there for about two weeks. After that he rides to Rimini and Faenza."

"What will he do there?"

"Conquer, what else? Rumors have it he wants to put all of Italia under his thumb. We'll see if he has the balls to do it; the man is a pretty little girl, after all. He probably sucks his own tits to make himself feel better."

Claudia closed her eyes, a deep frown on her face as she undoubtedly started counting in her head.

"My spies tell me that the Apple has been secreted to someone for study. I am working on determining his identity."

Ezio blinked. "That was fast."

Volpe shrugged. "Not really. I had my spies working as soon as I saw Monteriggioni on fire. They've been looking for the last three months. I finally got word the other day. I don't know what their criteria are for sending the Apple to someone for study, but my people are hoping to find that out and, from that, gather a name."

"I had no idea you had spies in the papal court," Machiavelli said. "You could have told me."

Volpe's face was completely blank of expression, but Ezio could hear the faint sounds of a sneer in his reply: "... It must have slipped my mind. I know _you_ didn't tell _me _that there was a rival guild here."

"I didn't even know you were _here_," Machiavelli retorted, "And what rival guild?"

"The Cento Occhi," Volpe said. "Quite convenient, that you don't know about them even though you have Cesare's ear..."

"My network is not large enough for that, and I have enough things on my plate right now as it is."

"Wait, wait," Ezio said quickly, stepping between the two before Volpe considered bloodshed. "Back up. The Cento Occhi? I thought they were slavers?"

Volpe gazed at Ezio from under his hood, up even in the safety of the warehouse, before nodding his head. "They have their hands in a lot of pies. We," he explained, gesturing to himself, "have an unspoken agreement with the poor in Roma. We do not steal from them and in turn they do not see us. But the Cento Occhi prey upon these people... They inspire terror and drive them to the church for comfort, they are the primary source for bodies in the Tevere, and yes, they are slavers as well. There is also a rumor that they are Cesare Borgia's private couriers, but I haven't confirmed that. If they were to disappear, no one would miss them." He leveled a pointed glare at Machiavelli, daring him to contradict him.

"A familiar prong," the diplomat said. "Used much like the Followers of Romulus, it seems, driving people to pay their tithes and buy salvation from fear." He turned to Ezio. "The people are easily swayed, it seems."

… Was the man _trying_ to piss off everyone in the room? Ezio refused to rise to the bait, the meeting had derailed enough as it was. He looked to his sister, gesturing her to say something.

"Caterina Sforza was being held at Palazzo Belvedere."

"... 'Was?' "

She nodded. "Rumors are still flying about, but they say she tried to escape."

Ezio openly smiled. "Of course she would."

"It didn't go well," Claudia continued, glaring at the interruption. "She will be moved to the prison within the Castello next week. They're accusing her of trying to poison the Pope."

"She may well have," Ezio said, still smirking in pride at the Tigress of Forli. "Anything else?"

"Only that Madonna Solari was an _idiota_," Claudia said. "The girls have a long way to go before they live up to my standards, and several of them don't appreciate the change in leadership. More than a few want to go back to the old ways and sell their secrets to the highest bidder. Loyalty is a foreign concept to them."

"Are you asking for help?" Ezio asked, his rich baritone low. Every bone in his body demanded he do just that, to whisk all of Claudia's problems away, but he forcibly reminded himself that _she chose this_, and didn't want the help.

Her gaze hardened, and she sat much straighter in her chair. "No," she said emphatically. "I can handle it."

Bartolomeo looked back and forth between the two. "What's this?" he asked, confused. "Ezio, I thought you looked out for your women. Don't tell me you're going to let some open legs sweep in and-"

"_You stay out of this,_" Claudia hissed, her eyes hard and flashing.

Bartolomeo blinked, surprised at the reaction, before laughing out loud. "Ha! I see you have more balls that most whores, well sai-"

"_Never_ call my _sister_ a whore," Ezio said, his voice low and dangerous and utterly unable to help himself.

Bartolomeo, for his part, was utterly confounded. "That's your _sister_?" he demanded, before turning back to Claudia. "_You're_ his _sister_? The little _piccina_ that-"

"Beloved," Pantasilea said softly, "Now is not the time to talk about it."

"But he's letting her-"

"_Beloved_," she said again, her voice lower but no less soft. The mercenary scoffed and crossed his arms, closing his mouth.

Silence hung in the air for a long moment, Ezio and Claudia both working to get their emotions under control; Ezio closed his eyes and ran his good hand down his face, pulling at his skin and his closely cropped beard. This was _exactly_ why she couldn't be helping him, she was only causing more problems! Now he had to defend her honor at every turn because this! Why, _why_ did she jump at the opportunity to be the head of a _brothel_? Just what was she trying to prove?

With a deep sigh he put the feelings away for later and rolled his unbound shoulder.

"So, in short," he said, hoping he sounded less shaky than he thought. "Cesare Borgia is in Castel Sant'Angelo for the next two weeks, with Caterina Sforza scheduled to join next week. The Apple is secreted away for study by some anonymous figure. The Borgia employ at least two different bands of cutthroats: the Cento Occhi and the Followers of Romulus to terrorize the citizens and drive them to the church. We have a list of names of lieutenants employed by Cesare to do more harm, but only vague locations as to where they nest. The Thieves Guild is fighting the Cento Occhi but is likely indistinguishable with each other which confuses the citizenry, and training at the barracks is going to be slow going for the foreseeable future, and the Rosa in Fiore will need its house cleaned. And I am out of money. Is there anything else?"

Pantasilea blinked at the comment about his finances, as did Volpe, but nobody said anything.

"_Bene_," Machiavelli said. "An adequate position, given what you started with. So the _Castello_ it is. Roma will heal quickly with Cesare and Rodrigo gone."

This again. "Only if the opportunity to assassinate them arises will I take it," Ezio said, his voice firm.

The Florentine diplomat's eyes narrowed. "Do not repeat your mistake in the Vault. You must kill them now. Who knows when Cesare will next be in Roma."

"I'm with Machiavelli, Ezio," Bartolomeo said. "We should not wait."

Volpe gave a wary glance at Machiavelli before saying, "Bartolomeo is right."

Them, too? He looked to Claudia. Her face was still red from Bartolomeo's earlier comments, but he could see her mind working, thinking, assessing. She looked down, her voice soft. "They killed _Zio_ Mario," she said simply.

… Everyone was against him, it seemed. He gave an internal sigh.

"Do not worry," he assured them. "They will die. You have my word."

* * *

The next morning he didn't want to wake up. He had been plagued with dreams of the villa attack, intermingled with the hanging of his family and the brutal death of Cristina, and he just didn't have the energy of his youth to hop right out of bed. He lingered as much as he dared, before inevitably thinking about the long, long, _long_ list of things he had to do and prepare for.

Ezio had yet to scout out the _castello_ that he would be assaulting next week, and he wanted at least a brief lay of the land to know what he would be getting into. He also needed to spend the next week doing favors for actual payment – it was either that or starve – and he knew the income would be pitiful indeed. Nobody had injected money into the economy yet, and so there was little money indeed to spread around. He had yet to corner Machiavelli and ask about his private spy network; the man was private enough apparently to not want to share, but Ezio wanted to at least have an assessment of the information network he was trying to initiate. Claudia's girls needed training, and Volpe's men had difficulty gathering intelligence if the people didn't actually _trust_ him. Bartolomeo... Ezio didn't know just how large his host was, and it would take time to train the recruits once the renovations were complete. That didn't even get into the wound on his shoulder; all the abuse he had put it through had set his recovery back repeatedly, and he _dearly_ hoped that his assault on Castel Sant'Angelo wouldn't require climbing.

… He wasn't going to be that lucky, but Ezio still wished for it.

He spent the next three days building up his endurance of his right arm, trying to see how much climbing he could do one handed and if his muscles could take it. He determined quickly that he had not lost as much ability as he thought, even with his arm bound to his side he could hop up posts and some signs and make his way to rooftops, and his balance was not terribly affected. His _grace_, however, was a different story, as was his speed. All climbing took a great deal more care, therefore more _time_, and he could not do it completely silently. And that, more than anything else, made him realize just how inhibited he was with is injury.

There was a long afternoon of creative cursing as he realized that.

Ezio felt more than slightly cornered into the assault; there was so much disagreement between the guilds that the master assassin found himself thankful they had even agreed on _that_ much. Volpe had always seemed relatively easy-going; he had not expected to see the man giving veiled barbs and innuendo of treachery at Machiavelli – who of course soured everybody's mood by his very presence and blunt opinions. He knew things would be strained with Claudia, but he had not expected her to be so uncomfortable with Bartolomeo's creative cursing, given that Ulderico himself had been a mercenary; and _then_ there had been the comment about her being a whore and... Ezio growled to himself.

Some Brotherhood!

He wondered how his father and uncle had managed to keep everyone unified for so long. After a short three months everything was falling apart, and Ezio was going to stage an assault on one of the Pope's most fortified buildings in an attempt to keep everything roughly stitched together. The thought was cause for depression.

The next day, he found an architect wandering the streets of the island, a confused look on his face.

"Are you lost?" Ezio asked, putting on the charm.

"_Si_, it would seem," he said, looking up. "I am to contact a _Ser_ Auditore da Firenze, in a warehouse, but I cannot seem to find it..."

Ezio blinked, surprised at the contact, but kept an easygoing smile on his face. "I know the warehouse of which you speak; allow me to guide you there."

"Ah, _grazie, messere_," the other man said.

He whistled when he saw the barren warehouse with its solitary desk.

"Now then, what can I do for you?" Ezio asked.

"Wait... you..." The architect stuttered for several seconds, before drawing himself up and bowing generously. "_Ser_ Ezio," he said, in full sales pitch, "I represent the combined resources of Bartolomeo d'Alviano, Claudia Auditore and La Volpe. Through my associates spread across the city you can channel your florins to any part of the underground you desire. As a gesture of goodwill, they have purchased a building here on Isola Tiberina for a..." he paused, mustache twitching as he struggled to remember, "... a _Dottore_ Dante. They have also donated the sum necessary to renovate it to his needs, and say they will make further donations in the future."

Ezio blinked, staring at the architect. "... What?"

The man gave his pitch again, or started to, before he grabbed the man's arm and dragged him to the bank and stormed Matteo's office. The architect pointed out the building on the map, explained the work that was going to be done and the costs of everything. It smacked of Claudia's frugal efficiency. Once the architect was dismissed, Ezio turned to his banker.

"That building is going to pay a one percent tax, secret to everyone, that goes straight into my accounts."

Matteo blinked. "One percent? That's hardly enough to eat off of!"

"No, it won't," Ezio said, leaning back with a mysterious grin. "But it will add up once we get others."

"... Others?"

But Ezio left it at that, going back to the warehouse and telling Dante of the windfall that had just landed in his lap. The shower of gratitude was almost embarrassing, the doctor utterly thrilled to have a practice again, and had no problem treating the occasional assassin for free or paying the one percent tax; he considered it a fair trade for the inherent protection from Borgia guards, and he gleefully moved into his new shop before renovations had even started, saying he had no problem working around the construction.

And so, on March 28, Ezio stood in the square of the Ponte Sant'Angelo, Machiavelli at his side, as they discreetly watched a carriage ride up. The noon sun had the square filled with people, heads bobbing up and down, merchants selling their wares, children darting between legs. The papal carriage drew more than a few eyes, and the beauty of Lucrezia Borgia as she stepped out, resplendent in a rich red dress and trendy starched collar, drew even more. The blonde twenty-year old waited, watching people point and stare, until she called out to the crowds.

"_Salve,_ citizens of Roma!" she announced. "Behold a sight most splendid! A bitch of most evil powers, a harlot who tried to send poisoned letters to Pope Alexander naught five months ago, Caterina Sforza, she-whore of Forlì — has at last been brought to kneel!"

From out of the carriage came two heavily armed Borgia guards, pulling out the redheaded tigress. Ezio's eyes narrowed as he saw whatever finery she had been wearing was ripped to nigh nonexistence, her bodice visible and half laced, her skirts in tatters and arms bare for all the men to see. The master assassin could hear the lust in the men around him, and his shoulder strained against its bindings, wishing to stab such lascivious men. Many catcalls echoed throughout the crowds, whistles and vulgarity, and Lucrezia gave a positively smug smile, enjoying the reaction as the blond turned to witness Caterina's humiliation.

The response was not what the blond expected at all.

"Ha!" she scoffed, "No one kneels as low as _Lucrezia Borgia_! Who put you up to this? Was it your brother or your father? Perhaps a bit of _both_? Perhaps at the _same time_!"

Machiavelli choked slightly next to Ezio, but the master assassin grinned at the woman's spirit. She was not broken yet!

Lucrezia harshly slapped Caterina across the face, fury making her beauty turn ugly.

"Shut your mouth!" she hissed, "None speak ill of the Borgia!" A nod to the guard and an armored fist was pounded into Caterina's unprotected belly, causing her to double over as the air was pushed out of her lungs. The crowd reacted to the display, and Lucrezia's hard gaze snapped to the people.

"The same will happen to any who defy us!" she threatened. "Remember that!"

"Good people of Roma, stay strong!" Caterina shouted as they started to drag her away. "You will be free, your time will come, I swear it! The Assassin may be dead but-"

A gauntlet collided with her temple and she at last went limp, the procession crossing the bridge to the _castello_ beyond.

Ezio cursed. "They are going to torture her."

Machiavelli gave his companion a narrow gaze. "You are here for Cesare and Rodrigo. Do not let your heart, or rather, your loins, get the best of you."

Ezio shook his head, offended that his fellow Florentine thought so little of him. "Caterina is a powerful ally, if we help her now while she is weak, she will aid us in return. You remember her assistance in Forli with the Apple."

"That ended very badly for you, as I recall," Machiavelli retorted. "You nearly died, and the Apple was lost to us for almost a decade. Her influence has declined greatly since her son tried to assassinate her husband."

… Was he _blind_? Ezio turned to face Machiavelli. "How do you think she would react to learn that the Assassins were alive but did not come to her aide? Do you think her influence so far gone that you would risk her ire? Even if her power is less than what it was, she is a Sforza, which means allies all throughout Italia. It would be beneficial indeed if Ludovico Il Moro Sforza was on our side, yes?"

"... Perhaps. But kill Cesare and Rodrigo first."

"_Fine_," Ezio grunted, his mood sour. He pulled out a red robe Machiavelli had brought, draping it over himself to look like a cardinal, and kept his head low as he began to cross the bridge.

He got perhaps twenty feet in before a city guard pulled him aside. "I've never seen a cardinal with a sword. What business do you have here?"

Ezio, intent as he was on the _castello_, blinked at the guard with hard gold eyes, taking a moment to think before putting on the thickest French accent he could muster. "What do you want?" he demanded.

The guard pointed at Ezio's hip. "No swords," the man said in slow, condescending tones.

Ezio swore at him in French, demanding to be left to his own devices and hoping he could bluff his way into the _castello_, but the guard grabbed his (bad) arm and escorted him back over the bridge, cursing French idiocy before shoving him back into the square. Machiavelli watched from a crowd, raising a skeptical eyebrow, before Ezio rolled his eyes. Finding a ladder, he climbed up to the roofs to see if he could ascertain another way to the Castel Sant'Angelo. Asking his eagle for help, he looked for telltale traces of gold, possible paths to climb and...

There, mooring by one of the fences and...

"_Merda_."

With great frustration, Ezio climbed back down to the square and rejoined his companion.

"I can't do it."

"What?"

"I can't do it," Ezio repeated. "The climb is too difficult for me as I am now. I need time to heal and use both arms before I can stage this assault. I'm not ready; I can't do it."

Machiavelli openly scowled. "Then all of our efforts have been lost. The longer those men live, the more time they take to plan their next attack."

The more time they had to torture Caterina as well, and that was a trail of thought Ezio did _not_ want to travel; but what could he do? He was just one man, none of the others had the skills necessary to perform this assault, and he wasn't so stupid as to commit effective suicide just on principle. Now one of his most powerful allies was going to be tortured for weeks, possibly months, because of his injuries. He had failed. _Again_. _Merda._

_ Merda!_

Machiavelli seemed to sense Ezio's darkening mood. "Come," he said slowly. "We should go back to the warehouse, plan our next move."

"_... Si_."

"_Maestro!_"

Both men blinked, turning and looking out through the crowds to see a waif of a man running towards them, in threadbare clothes and a bright smile that-

"... Romeo?" Ezio asked, stunned, as the tiny man ran up to the master assassin and grinned. "... You're... alive?"

"_Maestro_," Romeo said, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I had thought the worst... I didn't know what to do... but then I saw your accounts and I knew I had to see for myself... oh, _maestro_, it is so good to see you! Is Lady Claudia alive as well? And _Ser_ Mario?"

"What... what are you doing here?" Ezio asked, beside himself.

"I almost didn't make it, _Maestro_, but your apprentice found me and helped guide me here. It's a miracle from God! You're alive!"

"... 'Apprentice?' " Ezio repeated. He looked past the tiny banker and to another man, dressed in pale grey with a hood; dark stubble littering his chin.

The man looked up, meeting Ezio's eyes, and gave a pragmatic bow. "_Maestro_ Ezio Auditore da Firenze," he said slowly, his face young. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. "I am an apprentice Assassin of the Order, and I come here, to you, to complete my training."

"... And who are you?"

He offered a small grin.

"Francesco Vecellio da Pieve di Cadore."

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Is that a few shrieks of glee we hear at seeing the above name? Vecellio will be a familiar name to anyone who played Project Legacy, and Ezio needed a positive note after this chapter.

There are several points in this chapter, but two stand out the most. The one is a personal favorite if ours: logisitics. Perhaps it's geeky or nerdy, but the two of us love logisitcs. Anyone who's been in charge of anything, from a classroom to a club to something else, will understand that there is a lot that goes into leadership that doesn't appear on paper: organizing, financing, and in Ezio's case philosophy and secrecy. Whenever the two of us talked about writing ACB, we spent most of our time talking about these early chapters because we were discussing the logistics: how much money would Ezio have available? How would he plan for the future? How would apprentices work (more on THAT in later chapters :P) etc. You see a lot of half formed plans here, and they will continue to develop over the course of the fic, and finances will give him a headache for the vast majority of this fic. And we love it. We just love it :D

Do forgive the geekdom.

The second thing is less self-gratifying: Claudia. Or, more specifically, the role of women in Renaissance Italy. Because Claudia has to fight to be acknowledged in the game, this struggle ran away with us and turned into a political commentary about how women were treated, seen, limited, abused, etc. Nobody blinks when a half-naked courtesan runs through the streets shouting for help, and it's a matter of course that the Madonna of a brothel would have been raped repeatedly before the arrival of money are only some of the things we did in this fic to illustrate the point. That Claudia now works in a brothel perpetuates this, and we spent a lot of time talking about where to go with this, but Claudia and Ezio sort of ran away with us for this particular arc. We finally decided that Ezio, while more evolved than most men on the subject of women, grew up as a Florentine nobleman, and doesn't realize that as advanced as he is he has some preconceptions that limit his understanding. Protecting Claudia by sending her away, his disgust at the idea of her heading a brothel, are symptoms of these preconceptions, and the rest of the fic will exacerbate this friction between them while Claudia... "educates" him on the truth. That Federica will go through puberty over the course of this will not help. Literally every scene between them becomes important for this reason, and it culminates in a way that's quite rewarding for us at the end of the fic.

And then there's also setting up Barto's idiocy, Volpe's distrust, and trying to set things up for the ONE YEAR time skip that's about to hit. Did we mention time skips? This one's short compared to the next one.

Next chapter: "Hey wassa matter with you, Altair?"


	5. Knowledge of the Heavens

**Part Five: Knowledge of the Heavens**

"Welcome back," Rebecca greeted as Desmond sat up. Standing, the rocker stretched, her spine popping all the way down, and smiled as she circled. "Going to get some eats from the cafe in town. Anything?"

"That nice pasta dish I like," Shaun called from his station, not even looking up from his computer. "Thanks!"

"Sure thing," Rebecca said, wandering over. "Pay up for your share."

Shaun actually looked over from his station and scowled horribly. "I'm British. I have no Euros, so thanks in advance."

"Cheapskate." She lightly punched his shoulder and turned. "Anything else?"

"Sausage," Desmond replied. "Some nice Italian sausage, if you can." After al_l, Ezio always did enjoy a good sausage that Monteriggioni's co_oks did well.

"Nothing for me," Lucy said. "I don't want you too long in town. Just make sure we have plenty of supplies."

"On it!"

Desmond stretched as well, and went through routine stretches to keep him limber, especially after being in the Animus so long. He walked over to their small kitchen area and grabbed an apple to munch on after being in the Animus since breakfast.

He walked to Lucy's station and leaned a hip against it. "Any news from outside?" he asked.

"Well, with Rebecca patching in a phone line earlier this week, it's been easier to access things. The Assassins know where we are and what we're doing, but the Templars are still guarding the boarders. We're stuck for now until they move on." Lucy sat back and rubbed her face. "Vidic seems overly busy too."

Desmond frowned. "That can't be good. Doing what?"

"From what I've been able to tell, he's been using all those Animus machines we saw when we were escaping. Every single one of them has an Abstergo operative stuck in it to train."

Desmond could swear his blood ran cold. He'd been training so hard to get an edge and now the Templars were copying the idea? What the hell were they going to do against such trained operatives? And what time period or ancestors were getting the training? Were they going to know sword work or were they going to be expert arms-men? Would they have mercenary training or nobleman training? There were too many options in the vast history of one's ancestry. "Shit. What are they planning?"

"A full on assault," Lucy said flatly, rubbing her face again. "I'm just not sure where. I don't have that kind of access."

Desmond blinked. "How are you even getting access? Weren't you the only Assassin at Abstergo's Animus facility?"

A look passed Lucy's face so fast Desmond wasn't sure what he saw. "Some old passwords work," she said. "And we have an Assassin or two in different Abstergo facilities, but they're not connected at all with the Animus unit and don't dare blow cover trying to get in. I'm doing what I can, but I can't dig very far."

"Don't worry," Desmond reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "We'll make do. Assassins always do." Even Ezio, who had nothing, was rebuilding. Desmond was sure that they could get somewhere too. "So, anything I can do?"

Lucy gave a small smile. "Thanks, Desmond, but not right now."

Desmond shrugged and went over to an empty area of the Sanctuary and started his sit ups and pushups to help build up strength and endurance, since he couldn't just run around with Shaun stubbornly at his station and complaining about anything that made lots of noise or motion. He got into a steady rhythm and let his mind empty. It had been his habit since coming to Monteriggioni, after coming out of the Animus he immediately tried to exercise his brain into not thinking. It was the only thing he could do to try and remove himself from Ezio and remind himself that he was Desmond.

He worked up a good sweat and, three hours later, went down into the mines to wash up and change. He felt refreshed, in a way, and more like himself. He shivered from the cold water, but just shrugged his hoodie on a little tighter as he walked back into the Sanctuary.

"Rebecca back yet?" he asked as he headed to the kitchen area again.

"No," Lucy said. "I'm getting worried. She usually doesn't take so long for a supply run."

Shaun was far more blasé. "This _is_ Rebecca we're talking about, yeah? I'm sure she's fine."

But Desmond knew Shaun was worried, he could see the tension in the Brit's shoulders.

With nothing else to do, Desmond started cooking dinner from what they had.

It wasn't until two hours later that Rebecca came down the steps with several bags of materials. More than they'd originally anticipated for a supply or food run.

"Everything okay?" Desmond asked.

"Just a quick heads up," Rebecca replied, putting down all her bags and shaking out her arms after carrying so much for what must have been a while. "There was a white unmarked van parked across the street from the Villa when I headed out. It was still there when I was coming back so I killed time in town. It's a little too non-descript for my liking and just the right size for surveillance. It was finally gone and I could come back, but we should keep an eye out."

"We're staying underground for the next three days," Lucy ordered, getting up to help with the bags of supplies that were clearly for a few days. "No one goes out at all for any reason. At all. We'll switch to our alternate watch site. It's a bit more hidden and we may not see as much, but we'll see enough."

"Wha-really?" Shaun gaped. "_Really_? I was looking forward to getting _out_ from under here tomorrow!"

"Tough," Lucy replied airily. "Safety first."

"But that's just not _fair_!" Shaun groused. "I haven't been out in a week!"

"And I haven't been out at _all_," Desmond shot back. He, unlike the others, was completely grounded. With Abstergo everywhere and keeping an eye on everything, he was the _one_ person they'd recognize, the _one_ person who had escaped and was wanted back in custody. Lucy might be as recognizable, but she had been a member of Abstergo and could lie her way through something if needs be.

But Shaun kept grousing.

"Shaun just volunteered for latrine duty," Rebecca gleefully announced.

"Agreed," Lucy smiled back.

"_What_?" Shaun shouted, staring at them aghast. But looking at the two smiling faces of the ladies of the team seemed to deflate him. "_Fine_," he grumbled.

Desmond debated with himself for a minute, before heading over to Shaun to distract him. "Any theories on that cipher Machiavelli handed me?" Desmond asked. Then corrected himself. "Ezio, I mean?"

Shaun gave a sour shrug. "I can't decode it without the key. It's a one-time disposable pad," he said as if explaining to a child. Desmond ignored the condescending tone.

"What's that?"

"Alright, lesson time for the Baby Assassin," Shaun turned, frowning. "It's a cipher with a unique, disposable key. Imagine if someone used the first letter of every word in the Declaration of Independence to encipher something. Well, without the Declaration, you couldn't decrypt it. This type of code's been used for centuries in various forms..."

"I bet I could run it through the computer?" Rebecca piped up from where she'd finally settled at her station.

Shaun scowled at her. "There are some things even a computer can't do..." he scoffed. "Like love, Rebecca. Like love."

The technician merely shrugged with her usual bright grin.

But Desmond saw the chance to pull Shaun from his foul mood. "So, Shaun, any lions outside the pride?" he asked.

Lucy looked up. "Who was that girl you were dating? Kate?"

Sounds like Shaun might hold proper conversations while Desmond was in the Animus.

"Ah yeah, Kate," Shaun said, leaning back with a smug smile. "Katie, Katie, Katie, kitty-kat-Kate." He smiled. "Charmed the pants right off her, I did."

"Yeah, right," Rebecca laughed. "I know for a fact you two didn't even make it to second base."

Shaun stuttered horribly in confusion before finally forming two solid understandable words. "What, what?"

Rebecca smiled just as smugly as Shaun did. "We had lunch!"

Shaun paled considerably and Desmond was sure he saw sweat starting to gleam on his forehead. "You..." Shaun whispered, "...had lunch... with Kate?"

Rebecca shrugged nonchalantly with a large smile. "Whatever," she said, refocusing on her computer. "I got work to do."

Shaun turned back to his station looking distinctly nervous and shuddered.

Desmond worked really hard not to laugh.

* * *

Later, when Shaun was up on watch and Lucy was down in the mines to wash up, Desmond walked over to the technician. She was always so perky, Desmond wondered how she could manage it. Always ready with a friendly smile, Rebecca did wonders to smooth whatever Shaun's abrasiveness ruffled and her music, which could be heard despite her headphones, was always a nice distraction from the quiet of everyone working while Desmond had nothing to do.

But how could she maintain that? "Have you ever killed anyone?" he asked, then winced at the non-sequitur.

"Hello to you too," Rebecca replied, still smiling. But she shrugged. "I dated a guy who was an electronics engineer around the time the Assassins first contacted me."

"And?"

"And now I'm single."

Desmond blinked. "Are you _kidding_?!'

Rebecca scowled at him, her lighter demeanor disappearing. "Of _course_ I'm kidding!" she growled. "You think I would actually joke about someone I actually killed?! Death is only funny when it's not happening in front of you! I should know, and that's _all_ I'm gonna say about it."

Desmond raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry," he said softly.

Rebecca sighed. "Didn't mean to snap," she replied. "This... isn't an easy life. I can usually ignore it, but sometimes... some subjects..."

Desmond looked away. "I get it," he said quietly. "I get it all too well."

There were things he didn't like to talk about. His father, how they didn't get along. He didn't want to think about how he'd inevitably meet him now that he was an Assassin again. His mother...

Desmond shook his head. "Sorry," he said again.

Rebecca just smiled and nodded. She understood.

Lucy came in, pulling damp hair back in a tail and yawning. Desmond decided this was the best way to change subjects. "So Lucy," he said, "you and Rebecca here seem close. When'd you meet?"

Rebecca burst out laughing and Lucy's face turned beet-red.

"Oh, now I _have_ to hear the story."

"Go ahead Lucy," Rebecca smiled. "Or I'll be telling him _my_ version."

Lucy stuttered a moment, caught off guard, before scowling. "High school," she said stiffly.

Desmond blinked. "Really? High school?"

"Yeah," Lucy replied. "It had been decided that I was going to infiltrate Abstergo and that they'd probably get me in college. But colleges and universities keep records on their students and what their grades were in high school. Home-schooling requires a different form and a set of tests. Since no one wanted Abstergo to recognize that I was an Assassin, I went to a public high school."

"And was a complete sourpuss," Rebecca giggled.

"Are you telling this story or am I?" Lucy scowled.

"Oh, it's all you!"

Lucy grimaced, her face getting even redder.

"So I started in high-school with faked records of my previous school," Lucy attempted to shrug nonchalantly. "It was no big deal. I'd met other kids my age before whenever we went into town for supplies."

Rebecca interrupted. "She was a complete disaster! Didn't know anything about the social dos and don'ts! She had a stick up her ass the whole time!"

"Hey!" Lucy retorted, "I did _not_! I knew how to have fun!"

The technician howled in laughter. "Right! Running up trees! Oh no, I showed her how to _really_ have fun! Snuck the two of us, underage, into clubs, took her around town, showed her what a nightlife was!"

Desmond chuckled, imagining it. "I thought you didn't join the Assassins till later, though, Rebecca."

She shrugged. "Right. Didn't get recruited for a few years, but I think meeting Lucy helped influence me."

Still red-faced, Lucy gave a sincere smile. "I can't take the credit. That was all you. I didn't do a thing."

"Other than insist on a low profile, _even_ once we were flat-out drunk at a club and singing off-key."

They all laughed and talked more about the experiences of their teenage years. Desmond talked about his attempts at a GED and the heavy weight of realizing how much studying he needed to do to pass, Lucy remarked on how different high school was than she'd anticipated but was grateful that she'd gone to prepare herself for college, and Rebecca kept offering embarrassing stories of attempting to lighten up Lucy's more serious demeanor.

They were still laughing when Shaun came in from watch and asked what the hell he had missed.

* * *

"_We only came Before._"

"_This Apple, this Piece of Eden..._"

"_Where is the Apple?_"

_The Apple whispered to him_.

Desmond jerked awake and lay there stiffly, taking a deep breath to try and settle his racing heart. He wasn't sure what had woken him. Some corner of his mind tickled with... something. He wasn't sure what. But he sighed, recognizing the sounds around him in the Sanctuary, and just rolled over.

"Hey Lucy," he heard Rebecca say softly. "This is getting harder and harder. I miss my family. I miss my dog. I miss my life. Desmond unintentionally reminded me of that today."

"I know, Rebecca."

"I know what we're doing is important, but I can't help but feel this way. Especially when we're spinning our wheels like we are now."

"We're not spinning our wheels," Lucy said softly. "We're just waiting for directions."

A pause. "I guess all I'm saying is, I need someone to talk to and you're the only person who understands."

Lucy chuckled. "I'm here for you. But don't forget Desmond and Shaun. We're a team."

"... I guess there's Shaun," Rebecca conceded, "but he just makes sarcastic comments. I just don't want that right now."

"Yeah, he tends to insert his foot and leg into his mouth."

Rebecca gave a small giggle. "You think? The big lug can be a sweetheart, but you wouldn't know it under all his bluster. And Desmond... he's been through enough. He doesn't need me dumping on him, he needs a smile."

"You always gave the best smiles," Lucy agreed. "I can't. I want to smile for him, but I can't."

"You always were too serious for that."

"True." Another pause. Then Lucy sighed. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way sometimes. I actually miss high school. I was normal there, with you. But when I do feel how heavy this all is, I try to think about what would become of this world if we weren't fighting this fight. It _is_ hard, Rebecca, and that's why you were chosen. Like me, you can endure."

Sounds of moving. A hug perhaps.

"Resilience doesn't make you invincible," Lucy said softly, a twinge of sorrow in her voice. "No person in this entire world is invincible. But you can endure. And keep picking yourself back up afterwards. And if ever you're worn down, we can talk about whatever like we did tonight."

A small sniffle. "Thanks, Luce."

"No problem. But if you _ever_ mention that night on the strip, _you'll_ be the one on latrine duty."

Rebecca laughed. "Roger that."

They continued to talk of inconsequential things and Desmond sighed. Just under three months till doomsday and everyone was feeling the pressure of just sitting there. Desmond wished he could go through the memories faster, didn't need so much time practicing the free-running in the Animus, didn't need time _out_ of the Animus to build his actual muscles. There had to be some way to hurry, but he just didn't see any.

With a heavy sigh, he tried to go to sleep again.

The following morning Shaun sat them all down for an update on the other teams, talking about Moscow, Osaka and Sao Paolo. Desmond listened and tried to pay attention, but just didn't feel it. He was just too tired.

With a yawn, he stretched his legs back to his sleeping bag by the statue of Altair, looking up to the blank rock that had a haunting face as Shaun droned on. And, in an attempted moment of self-amusement, Desmond slipped into his best Italian accent, which was far too easy after spending two decades as Ezio, and shrugged his shoulders up to his ancient ancestor. "Hey, wassa matta you, Altair?"

Rebecca apparently heard that and shouted at him. "That's judgmental!"

Desmond, surprised and humiliated at being caught, whirled and snapped back without thinking. "That's _stupid_!"

Lucy stepped between them, furious. "Really? This is what you guys are doing?"

"Oh no," Desmond replied in full sarcasm, hackles raised and digging his heels in, "God forbid I take a break!" Because even if he needed to spend more time in the Animus to catch up for the end of the world, he didn't _want_ to. "I've only spent the past _three fucking weeks_ inside that machine!"

"No, no, you're right," Lucy replied with just as much sarcasm. "Let's all screw around while the world falls to pieces!"

And that _stung_ because he knew what was at stake. "Hey, this isn't easy you know!"

Rebecca scoffed. "Right, like we're all on vacation out here?"

The argument started to degrade from there, but Lucy interceded again, her voice louder than Desmond had ever heard it before.

"_Enough_!" She took a deep breath. "Look, everyone's under a lot of pressure, but we're the only ones who can stop Abstergo. So we need to keep it together."

Desmond agreed, and it was a reasonable point, but he still couldn't quite stop the bite in his voice. "She's right. We need to be a 'hive mind' here, people."

"Desmond."

Rolling his eyes, Desmond took a step back, acknowledging that he needed to back down.

Shaun, who had been remarkably reticent, stepped forward nervously. "Anybody up for some reconciliatory yoga? Anyone?"

That got a chuckle all around.

"Very funny guys," Lucy said, sitting at her station. "Take a break, Desmond. Wait an hour. But we need to get going on those rifts. We've been ignoring them all week."

"Right."

Desmond took the time to just lie under the light of the grating over the Sanctuary and watch the clouds. He knew it was necessary to get through the memories and find out where Ezio had hid the Apple. Since Ezio had visited Rosa in Fiore and Bartolomeo's barracks, Rebecca had found rifts that Subject Sixteen had somehow left behind. But frankly, Desmond was glad to be not syncing into memories at the moment.

Finally with a sigh, he got into the orange recliner and sank into the Animus. He spawned by the warehouse, unsurprisingly, and started to work his way up to Claudia's brothel. He stuck to the roofs to keep practicing his free-running. As he came across guards on the roofs, he thinned his mouth and practiced using his hidden blade as well.

Once at the Rosa in Fiore, Desmond switched to his Eagle Vision and slowly circled the building before seeing the light on the northern side of the building, in the middle of a blank wall that had no grips. With a sigh, Desmond climbed up where he could and then eased his way over to the rift and let go, grabbing the ledge of the rift as he fell and yanked himself in.

The screen darkened and Desmond listened to the same bland female voice say "Loading," as before.

**Cluster 3** appeared and then came some Morse Code.

Missing -.. .- .-. -.- -. . … … .-.. - … - -.. -. ..- – -...

"_Just a second,_" Rebecca said. "_That's easy to decode. Let's see, 'DAR KNESS LOSTD NUMB'._ _So, what, Darkness lost numb? Numbers?_"

"_Let's just continue,_" Lucy replied.

An Abstergo file opened, showing several pictures with a title above.

WASHINGTON SITS ABOVE THE GREEN, IN 1944, KEEPING A COOL HEAD. BELOW THE RIGHT 1, IS THE STANDARD BEARING 48. BEHIND, THERE IS A COMPANY WHOSE POWER IS GROWING.

Desmond went about scanning every picture, carefully looking at black and white photos of crowds holding... was that Stalin's photo? Another black and white picture of two men, another huge crowd, a single dollar bill, a color photo of some large building at the base of a mountain.

"How the hell are all these connected?" he asked.

Of the photo of the two men, one revealed a name. "Harry Dexter White. Remember this name." and the man next to him had a quote. "I find myself more and more relying for a solution of our problems on the invisible hand which I tried to eject from economic thinking twenty years ago. - John Maynard Keynes."

"And these people are?" Desmond asked.

"_Just a second, you know I don't do modern history,_" Shaun grumbled. "_Ah, here we are. John Maynard Keynes, British economist, so he must have had a leg up on any American..._"

"_Biased,_" Rebecca muttered.

"_And he was good friends with Alan Turing, of computer science fame. His influence spread across to America, even after his death, and he believed that demand determined the level of economic activity. Too little demand led to unemployment. Those beliefs are now followed all over the world, so _yes_ Rebecca, he had a leg up to any other economist of his time._"

"_And Harry Dexter White_?" Lucy asked, stopping the inevitable argument.

"_American economist,_" Shaun replied. "_Not really much to his name. Was just a player in the Bretton Woods conference that led to the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. Died in '48._"

" '48?" Desmond asked, glancing up to the red forty-eight in the title. "I doubt that's a coincidence."

One of the large pictures of crowds showed French. "Le Chiffre indéchiffrable."

"_Oh!_" Shaun said. "_That's a famous cipher! It's a beginner that many first think indecipherable, but is incredibly easy to crack. Just need a set of letters and it's easy to do the rest._"

Still scanning the photos, Desmond came across several sets of jumbled letters. Shaun started grumbling about needing something that he wasn't getting, but Rebecca commented about putting the series through the computer since it was simple algebra to crack it without the key.

But Desmond did find some interesting quotes.

"How can I adopt a creed which, preferring mud to the fish, exalts the boorish proletariat above the bourgeois and the intelligentsia who, with whatever faults, are the quality in life and surely carry the seeds of all human advancement?" was in one of the photos of a large crowd and Desmond felt vaguely insulted by it. It was putting down the average Joe and exulting those who were "bourgeois" or super smart. Seriously? Couldn't an average Joe's pragmatism be just as good as a genius's inspiration? The quote just smacked of the Templar need to hold a few above the rest and it grated on Desmond's nerves.

"Owing to pressure from below, the pressure of the masses, the bourgeoise may sometimes concede certain partial reforms while remaining on the basis of the existing social-economic system." And this, Desmond understood as well. It was giving small concessions to maintain the status-quo, which seemed to be going on in governments all across the world. It was why American politicians didn't talk about getting money out of politics, because money was what helped elect politicians. Though it didn't always matter, the election between Mitt Romney and President Obama was showing just how disgusting the amount of money in politics was. Mitt Romney got money from a small group of close friends, while Barack Obama, trying to keep up, had to raise money from his grassroots following with only a few rich donors who didn't have the money of Romney's friends. Desmond was worried about the election and hoped it just wasn't a buying of democracy. Both sides were spending so much money that was better spent on other things. But neither side would ever suggest pulling money out of politics because they needed so much. Status quo maintained, and any reforms would be minor and not change the big picture. Hell, American economics and how banks ran things needed massive sweeping reforms, but nothing was happening.

Desmond shook his head, focusing again on the task at hand.

It was a quote in the color photo, however, that sent a chill down Desmond's spine.

"It would all be done in secret, the Assassins would never know until it was too late."

"_Ah! There's our decoded ciphers,_" Shaun said. "_And take that Rebecca. I'm faster than your computers._"

"_That's just because of how much processing power I need for the Animus,_" Rebecca laughed back.

"_Shaun?_" Lucy interrupted. "_The gobbledygook?_"

"_Ah, right. 'Debt ridden countries are the new frontier.' That sounds so friendly, doesn't it? 'Jekyll Island Club duck hunt more paper money and a central bank'-_"

"_Oh,_" Lucy said. "_That's the forming of the Federal Reserve. Abstergo made sure it's operatives understood that a lot of our power came from things set up decades ago._" Then she gasped. "_That's why I know that picture! It's a picture of the Mt. Washington hotel. And there was a famous meeting there, the Bretton Woods conference that led to the making of the International Monetary Fund. That's __what Harry Dexter White was involved with._"

"_IMF_," Shaun said. "_That's the key for the cipher..._"

"This is starting to freak me out."

"_Well, the final quote, 'One of them he provided the necessary pressure'._"

"All these rifts seem to be about banking," Desmond commented. "Just what is Sixteen getting at?" Still scanning the photos, Desmond's blood ran cold as he found Abstergo's symbol in the flags over the Mt. Washington hotel. "Shit," he whispered. "That means that the Templars are behind all the banking of the past hundred years..."

"_Not necessarily,_" Rebecca said. "_But it looks like they did try and shape policy_."

Desmond selected the flag and found another wheel lock puzzle, though different from the ones he'd solved to get the truth of Adam and Eve. But the red box he'd scanned the Abstergo flag in had numbers lined up with symbols, so he used that to line up the wheel lock for every position and input the code necessary to continue.

"Loading..."

Another Abstergo file opened.

_July 22, 1944_

_Fellows, rulers, welcome._

_ I deliver this speech to you as, several floors below us, a silent revolution begins._

_ Ranny Olds and Henry Ford. As many of you know, these founders gave us the assembly line, the device we have used to control both (those indoctrinated into the worship of our money (?) ) capitalists and workers (slaves?) alike. But I dream of a future in which such ugly chains will no longer be necessary. In 1910, our founders designed the Plan, it falls to us to see it through._

_ But, what of the Communists, who intend to spread the bread so thin that everyone will starve? It is our duty to (neutralize?) save them and their followers. We must ensure that they continue to eat, to reproduce, to be productive members of society. That is our burden, to shepherd those beneath us through life, and we must embrace it, even if (force is required?) they themselves do not._

_ H. and S. brought on the turmoil and fear necessary, now we must strike fast to ensure development continues in the proper direction. We will appear to concede ground to the workers, remember the successful ruse of the Rockefeller's dimes, but soon there will be no ground that we do not own._

_ In 1937 we founded this Company, this enterprise, with a purpose. The time to nurture it to fruition is upon us._

"Well isn't this a fun letter," Desmond muttered.

"_So Ranny Olds, founder of Oldsmobile, was another Templar,_" Shaun muttered. "_And he and good friend Henry Ford set up the assembly line to create a set up for what they want. What Plan, though?_"

"_Well we already know Ford had a POE that made his workers think his pay cuts were raises before sending it to Hitler,_" Rebecca thought. "_So H and S must be Hitler and Stalin. But damn, they'd planned all this from 1910? Over a hundred years ago?_"

"_And 1937 was when Abstergo was founded,_" Lucy said softly. "_God, how much have they planned and done that we've been blind to? Rebecca, forward this. Maybe some of our researchers can dig deeper into this._"

"It's Abstergo," Desmond whispered. "Sixteen is showing us how Abstergo got so powerful."

There was a moment of quiet before Desmond continued the puzzle and reached a quarantine zone and selected the two items to finally leave the rift.

"Oh this is so fun," Desmond growled. "My brain's going to explode by the time this is all done, isn't it?"

"_Oh, you have a brain? I wasn't aware of that._" Shaun said, a smile clear in his voice.

Desmond chose not to respond and headed east to the barracks. It was a long walk, and Desmond whistled. The horse that came wasn't the fastest he'd ever been on, but the construct was considerably tamer than some of the horses he'd ridden in real life.

Arriving, he circled Bartolomeo's buildings three times before growling in frustration.

"_Maybe the outer walls?_" Lucy suggested. So Desmond climbed the walls and walked around in Eagle Vision.

Ah, there it was. And like with the Rosa in Fiore, Desmond carefully dropped, praying he'd grab the rift before landing on the ground far below. He did and pulled himself in.

**Cluster 4**.

"Loading..."

A set of pictures arrived, the clue reading: "These intelligent workers have no self-control."

"_Oh this is easy_," Rebecca said with a grin. "_I can pick them out. Computers and robots, baby. And look! A science-fiction robot straight out of the fifties! And old-school computers with bulbs that needed replacing! Or de-bugging if a moth got caught,_" the technician laughed. "_Admiral Grace Hopper, pioneer of debugging!_"

Desmond selected the pictures and moved to the next screen.

Or rather, he attempted to.

"Loading..."

Words started to appear one letter at a time, while the blank female computer voice skipped and stuttered the word "Scanning..." several times.

_Apples oranges pears cucumbers radishes carrots spinach dates wood juniper steel aluminum water rain shanty village town city country spring summer fall winter to walk to sing to dance to play to eat to smile to cry to laugh to kill to see to know death regret love_

"Anyone else feel deja-vu?" Desmond asked.

"_Yeah,_" Lucy said quietly. "_It's like the last few puzzles from last time with Sixteen. It's... confused. Fractured._"

"Nuts?"

"_You won't end up like this Desmond. I promise._"

"Loading..."

A photo appeared with what looked like World War I heavy helmets on European soldiers over a box holding some sort of old gizmo. It soon dissolved into a wheel picture that Desmond easily maneuvered his way around, revealing more quotes of some kind.

"It is possible to invent a single machine which can be used to compute any computable sequence."

"I'm not interested in developing a powerful brain. All I'm after is just a mediocre brain."

"_More computer stuff. Did Sixteen know I'd be here?_" Rebecca chuckled.

"Loading..."

An audio file appeared, a selector jumping around until a small segment was selected. It was labeled as Abstergo Phone Records, June 1954. From there Desmond needed to meld a white sine wave to match a blue sine wave, based on limited options to click. It only took a moment to find the right manipulations, which unlocked the recorded phone call.

"V. It's N. I need Turing done today."

"Aren't we jumping the gun? You've already had him arrested and sedated."

"He still refuses to follow the directive. He's actually trying to invent one of those infernal things, instead of merely faking it for the newspapers. If he succeeds... you know what the mass unemployment generated by his robots will mean? Idle hands. We need to do this for the good of the people."

"What about Keynes? He trusted Turing."

"It's the greater good we're talking about here, V. Plus, a childless worker sends a bad message. We can't have them all stop reproducing."

"Fine. It's your call."

"I want it done like we did Harry Dexter White when he tried to warn the Soviets."

"All right."

"Be poetic about it, maybe something from the Bible. Turing was always theatrical."

They were all silent for a moment, trying to absorb what that phone call meant.

"So, Turing, like Alan Turing?" Desmond asked.

"_Abstergo had him killed, from the sounds of things,_" Rebecca said. "_Turing was like the father of computer science. But he was gay, and that was illegal in the U.K. He was thrown in jail and was injected with female hormones as opposed to going to prison. Nice system you have back home, Shaun._"

"_We can't always be perfect,_" the historian grumbled back.

"_History says it was suicide,_" Rebecca continued. "_Guess not after all this._"

"_And from this, we know Harry Dexter White, who seems to have been a Templar, was killed as well,_" Lucy said. "_And his friend Keynes was probably a Templar as well. They really did create modern banking._"

"But who is V.?" Desmond asked. "Or N.? And all this rhetoric is like people are cattle to perpetuate the status-quo. We need to breed like farm animals to produce more workers. It all reaches back to their basic philosophy that only a few need to guide the rest of us like we're all sheep."

And that just pissed him off.

Still, he selected to continue, and was again in a quarantined zone. This time the buttons he needed seemed to be part of a picture, but Desmond couldn't see enough of it to tell what it was other than a black-and-white of men at a bus station or something. He couldn't say for sure. And once he'd selected them, he was back out of the barracks, looking up to the blue sky.

"These puzzles are freakier than the last set," he muttered.

* * *

Ezio sat across from Francesco Vecellio at the warehouse. Machiavelli had quickly disappeared, claiming needs to check in with the Papal Court to avert the catastrophe of Ezio _not_ killing the Borgia. Ezio growled at his friend's retreat, but took Vecellio to the warehouse over the rooftops, to make sure that the apprentice had some skill.

Of course, despite his bad shoulder, Ezio still beat him across the rooftops.

But now Ezio needed to figure out what to do with Vecellio. Ezio had almost no money for himself, let alone to house another Assassin, and without his arm, there wasn't much training he could do. Through their conversations, Ezio learned that Vecellio was wise, certainly, but there was a distinct temper that was only barely under control. The boy would need another five years before he brought it fully to hand, and Ezio did not see how he had those five years to spare. He had so many _other_ things to do, after all.

It was the following day, when Dante arrived to check Ezio's wound, that serendipity arrived.

"Ah, another protector, _Maestro_?" Dante had asked upon seeing Vecellio and his grey hood.

"Indeed," Ezio replied. "But my funding right now is minimal and I'm not sure where to have him stay while I figure out how to get another bed here."

Dante shrugged. "He can stay with me. "Renovations have started, but so has business. Apparently there hasn't been a good doctor on the island for years. Most have to traipse off to the Trastevere or go deep into central Roma."

"I could never ask such a thing," Ezio replied.

"Think nothing of it, _Maestro_. He'll be working," Dante assured him. "I think one of the renovators has been helping himself to my medicines and _Ser_ Vecellio can help discourage him."

Ezio chuckled. Vecellio didn't say anything about his new accommodations, instead saying he'd go for a walk and disappeared to give Ezio the privacy he needed with his doctor.

"_Maestro_?" Dante asked. "How much can I trust you?"

"With anything," Ezio replied promptly.

"If I asked you to limit moving your shoulder, would you?"

Chuckling, Ezio shook his head. "I doubt it. I find my line of work is too unpredictable to guarantee such things."

Dante said nothing for a while, then sighed. "Very well. I think you can unbind your arm at night when you sleep. But _not_ during the day. I'm trusting you _Maestro_, to know to _not_ cut off your bindings during the day."

"I will do my best."

"I'll pray your best doesn't include something stupid."

Over the next two weeks, other Assassin apprentices started to arrive from around Italy, including a stoic Cipriano Enu, an African well versed in many languages, and Tessa Varzi, a strong-willed woman well versed in poisons. With Vecellio's perfectionist tendencies and quick temper, it made for an interesting mix, though Ezio was running out of ways to provide for them. Some simply went to local businesses and offered one of their talents for small wages, like Enu translating for scriveners. Others, like Varzi pick-pocketed to great effect, though Ezio was more hesitant to use that money once he learned that one of the younger Assassins picked the pocket of one of the people Ezio was helping around town.

But it provided enough to get food and Ezio's finances were no longer so thin and, to a degree, it showed Ezio their various skills.

With a half-dozen young Assassins at various places in their training, however, Ezio needed more. He didn't have the money to start investing in local business and getting the one-percent tax he wanted, his apprentices didn't make enough for that, and Claudia's contributions weren't that large since her business was still frowning. So he had to get creative.

One night, atop the warehouse and looking out across Roma, inspiration struck. Off in the distance, on the west bank of the Tevere, was a Borgia tower. And when Ezio saw it, he smiled.

The next morning, he was sending out Vecellio to scout the area around the Borgia tower for hiding places and escape routes, Varzi to observe patrols and routines, and Enu to check supplies and estimate what was held in the tower. Those three were the best of the apprentices he had, and he was going to test their skills.

They observed for a week, and were unnoticed. To their surprise and Ezio's amusement, however, none of them had noticed _him_ as he'd observed and oversaw them.

So he gathered the three one night around the fire on a chilly April night. Ezio's collection of other apprentices had been sent out to help citizens in the area, so that the people would start to recognize them as well as they recognized him.

"Now," Ezio said, "tell me what you have learned."

It turned out they were quite observant indeed. Enu estimated that the Borgia tower had a strongbox of florins somewhere, along with treasures harvested from the local citizens under their yoke. There was also a tendency to gather black powder and, from what Enu had observed, they didn't store it in the main base, but from what he could deduce, it was likely in the tower itself, so that random thieves couldn't grab it. Varzi, who only barely knew how to read and write, could sketch out a detailed map of the area, the patrols of not only the guards within the tower, but also on the streets in the surrounding area. She pointed out when each patrol got started by the bells from the Vatican, which echoed even that far south over the city buzz because of the open river, and listed how many were usually in each patrol. Vecellio pointed out many useful and possible routes. The area around the tower had many ancient Roman buildings in various states of disrepair that allowed for many hiding spots with partial walls, to say nothing of the crowds bustling from one spot to the next. There were also some stables with useful haystacks.

Good. They all had at least the basics.

"Now I want you three to plan how to rob the tower and blow up their explosives."

Varzi choked, Enu gaped, and Vecellio stared.

Ezio merely smiled.

It was a long night after that. Each tended to plan to their own strengths. Varzi wanted to poison their food supply so that they could sneak in and handle things. Until Ezio pointed out that if they learned the food was poisoned the Borgia would have no problem giving it to the people. Enu, who was incredible with his oddly curved bow, wanted to pick them all off from a distance, then sneak in over the rooftops. Until Ezio pointed out that any guards atop the tower wouldn't be able to be picked off. Vecellio, though, had the most viable plan. He suggested using the street patrols to get disguises of Borgia guards to sneak in, and then kill everyone in sight, using the confusion of who was the enemy to get further and further along. Ezio pointed out that once they started slaughtering Borgia, then they'd be covered in blood. It would be obvious who was doing the killing.

"And don't forget," Ezio said softly. "The Borgia guards are also part of the people we protect."

"_What_?" was the general response.

Ezio leaned back. "Yes, Borgia guards are often of a type of person who is unpleasant. But it is also steady work, especially now when the Borgia crush anyone who is not with them. The rank and file may not all be our enemies; some might be desperate. Machiavelli also has some informants among the common guards. There is no doubt that advancement under the Borgia will be the cruel ones. But to dismiss all Borgia guards as just evil is a simplification of what a human being is. We are Assassins. We kill because we have to. Not because we want to."

Ezio stood. "The three of you, take today to hammer out a proper plan. One without so much bloodshed. You'll be carrying it out tomorrow night."

That day, Ezio spent with his other apprentices. Showing them the finer points of pickpocketing and how that skill could transfer to a stealthy kill. He also wandered around the outer reaches of the people who knew him, and offered more assistance in simple chores that helped an overworked business owner. People Ezio didn't even know recognized him and offered happy greetings, and friendly smiles.

The plan Vecellio, Varzi, and Enu had laid out when he returned was much better thought out and far more viable. It also involved more distraction and misdirection than outright slaughter, much to Ezio's relief. He helped them with some of the finer details. Things he'd learned over the years that they weren't experienced enough to look for, but it was as planned as could be. From there, it was a question on if they could adapt when things went wrong.

A cart from Salvatore was arranged to be in a back alley for the loot, and Ezio stood in the shadows of a hollowed out second story to observe, his arm unbound, just in case. Vecellio ambushed a small patrol, making good use of his double hidden blades, while Varzi backed him up and her use of the spear was quite good. Watching, Ezio filed away that Vecellio was still getting used to double hidden blades and needed more training with them, and that while Varzi was good with the spear, she used up too much energy. One of Bartolomeo's men could likely help her improve.

The guards were stripped and Varzi and Vecellio slipped on the uniforms. Elsewhere, Enu was working a crowd, paying off heralds to talk about the atrocities of the Borgia. The citizens, some of whom were inebriated, started to get angry and there was a lot of shouting starting. And upset.

With almost perfect timing, Vecellio and Varzi ran into the Borgia compound, talking about a riot starting. That was Ezio's cue to shoot his hidden gun into the sky, which let Enu know it was time to start warning the crowd.

Borgia guards emptied the compound and Vecellio and Varzi helped themselves to the plunder left behind, specifically the strongbox and various expensive looking trinkets. The Borgia arrived at the crowd, that was already angry and frustrated, but more scared of the Borgia. They started screaming and running, Enu helping any that struggled or straggled and keeping casualties to bumps and bruises.

Once Ezio had observed that the Borgia were getting ready to start herding those they'd captured back to their tower, Ezio shot a crossbow bolt to the wagon. It was the signal for Varzi to take the cart and escape while Vecellio climbed the tower and set off the powder. The explosion lit up the night sky, resounding for miles as he dove down to an awaiting haystack. The Borgia ran forward, confused and nervous, which made things perfect for Enu to release all the captured citizens and let them slip silently into the night.

Ezio smiled.

* * *

Matteo and Romeo were waiting for them at the warehouse, ready to go over the loot and add it to the accounts. The other apprentices, who had been out and about among the people in the area, were able to identify some of the valuables that could be returned, and in the dark night, Ezio sent them off with the cart to deliver the stolen items. The rest which couldn't be identified was set aside to silently sell off.

Once Ezio had a good sense of the totals, he started budgeting. The warehouse was going to need builders he could trust to set it up for multiple rooms, possible small-scale training courses, and such. So he set aside money for that. As his Assassin's improved, they'd need armor and better weapons, once he could find a good and trustworthy blacksmith, so he started to set aside for that as well.

Ezio also listed several local businesses that he wanted to invest in as favors. Salvatore, who'd been complaining about how he couldn't use stalls at the end of the stable due to a leaky roof was going to get some money to repair it. An apothecary Dante used needed the owner and his family to sleep in the store after the Borgia had broken down the door to prevent thieves from stealing, so Ezio would send money there to repair the door. Other businesses were going to get the funds for the repairs they needed. All in exchange for a small one-percent tax. This also injected money into the local economy. Builders were going to start to get work, and their money could go to their own needs, like clothes, or food, or trade. And those people the builders bought from would now have money to repair things as well. The one-percent taxes would give Ezio the money he needed to outfit his assassins and, once he had more businesses, he'd be able to invest in more shops to help inject more money into the economy. It was cyclic and would help everyone.

All in all, a very profitable evening.

Ezio spent the next day catching up on sleep and then went to the businesses he'd mentioned and started broaching the idea of his investing in their problems if he could just get a tiny one-percent tax of their earnings. Most, who were taxed so heavily by the Borgia, were grateful for the help and that Ezio asked for so little. Some didn't want to pay any more taxes at all under any circumstances. Ezio still gave them the help, but on a smaller scale because he _did_ need that tiny tax for his finances. Yet he refused to leave these people in the lurch. The Borgia had trounced them enough. Ezio wasn't going to do the same simply because some were stingy after such harsh treatment.

But word of what Ezio was doing started to spread. Those willing for the tax in exchange for some sort of aide started to try and find him. Though no one knew where Ezio stayed, he made sure he was easy to find during the day when he was helping people with simple chores.

Things were going well indeed.

Naturally, that was when Machiavelli and his sour and dour mood descended one day in the middle of May.

Ezio set out a light lunch that an old local housewife liked to deliver once she heard that he had no idea how to cook and such a strapping young thing shouldn't be left to starve, dearie, you're too thin as it is!

Machiavelli ate with neat precision, not discussing anything until he was done. Ezio was used to this and let him, enjoying his own meal and thinking of sending one of the apprentices to the old housewife to see if she needed any help with anything.

"So," Machiavelli started, "how is your arm?"

Ezio lifted the limb. "Stiff, sore, and weak," he replied. "After five months of not using it, I need to build it back up and restore flexibility. Dante has been thinking of exercises to help make the work go faster, but I've been working on it on my own."

The Florentine diplomat nodded. "When do you think you can finally go after the Borgia?"

Ezio shrugged. "I don't know. These new guns, most doctors have never had to treat someone wounded by them before. Most die before they can even see a doctor. No one knows the limits of what this will do. It wasn't a small hole like an arrow or crossbow bolt would make. It was large, difficult to sew, you don't want to hear all the words Dante has for his opinions of guns."

Machiavelli scowled harshly over his wine.

"Besides," the Florentine Assassin said, "Cesare has long since left Il Vaticano. When he returns, we will deal with him."

Nothing was said for a moment, then Machiavelli raised a brow. "And how are your friends 'the people'?"

"Healing," was all Ezio would say. He didn't want to enter into yet _another_ debate.

"Hmm, then would you adopt another stray from Monteriggioni?"

Ezio smiled. "Of course."

"Good. Because a woman found me at my apartment and _refuses_ to leave me alone."

Ezio couldn't hold back a chuckle. The tight-laced Machiavelli likely _wouldn't_ care for someone making a scene at his home. "Send her to Isola Tiberina. I'll take care of her."

Machiavelli scowled in his usual dour manner. "Meaning you'll have another conquest?"

Ezio chuckled.

The woman, it turned out, was Arianna, the sister of Doriano, the tailor of Monteriggioni. She was the inspiration of the duo, often doing the designs, while Doriano was the pragmatic one who could apply her fanciful ideas to something feasible and selling it. Upon seeing Ezio standing on the bridge to the island, she burst into tears and came running forward, her worn threadbare skirts hitched up to give her more speed before she collapsed before him, crying out, "_Maestro_! _Maestro_! We all thought you were dead! Oh, _Maestro_!"

Ezio felt the pain of the loss of Monteriggioni stab at his heart, but he put it aside and helped her up. He led the hysterical tailor to Dante, who gave her a calming drink of some kind. Ezio stayed for an hour or so until Dante bustled him out, saying that he was going to keep her sedated for a few hours and to come back later.

When Ezio returned, Arianna was much less hysterical. She gave a watery smile up at him. "I'm sorry for such drastic behavior, _Maestro_," she said. "I've been wandering _Italia_ since the fall of our home and to see you again... Everyone thought you were dead. Those who didn't think you were killed when the canon struck the Villa thought you'd died after you were shot."

Ezio nodded somberly, remembering the pain as that bullet had exploded through his shoulder just as another bullet exploded from Mario's head, sending his ear and bits of skull and brain flying. "It was not easy," Ezio replied. "The good Doctor here has been looking after me."

Dante scoffed. "Someone has to. You don't look after yourself, _Maestro_," he grumbled.

Ezio let that slide and instead knelt before the sad woman. "You have suffered great hardship," he said, holding her hands in his. "How can I help you?"

Arianna burst into tears again, though not hysteria. "Your kindness truly knows no bounds, _Maestro_," she sobbed. "My only wish is to return to that little shop and make clothes, but I _can't_, not anymore."

The Florentine Assassin nodded. She had always been with her brother, and her brother had owned the shop because, while not unheard of, it was very difficult for a woman to open and run a business. For Arianna to come here alone meant that Doriano was likely dead.

Ezio squeezed her hands. "You've suffered a great deal," he said quietly. "We will find a way to help you."

Arianna's tears just came stronger and she was barely able to sob her thanks before Ezio said he'd see the doctor and Dante gave her another calming drink.

In the office, Dante sighed. "Her illness is not one that I can cure," he said sadly.

Ezio blinked. "But you gave her that medicine."

Dante pulled off his mask and rubbed at his face. "It's an addictive medicine. It won't help her in the long-run. She's not hurt in the body, but the mind, and I can't heal that. The best I can offer is a nunnery. The calm and sedate pace of life there will help her heal, if she can."

Thinking of his mother Maria, and how it had taken her years to come out of the recesses of her mind after Ezio's father and brothers had been hung, Ezio smiled. "I think she'll heal," he said softly. Arianna hadn't lost her words yet. The question was just to find a nunnery that wasn't completely under the Borgia's thumb in Rome.

It turned out that it wasn't that hard. Since it was priests, bishops, and cardinals that had all the power and nuns had no way of real promotion the way priests did, the Borgia didn't interfere much. Similarly, nuns often dealt directly with the poor with their ministries, making them incredibly accepting. Ezio smiled as he and Vecellio escorted Arianna to the nunnery. She would be fine. Ezio just needed to find a tailor who was willing to have a woman be the creative drive.

Another item on his long list of things to do.

And an item he would be very glad to do.

* * *

Ezio took Machiavelli's concerns to heart – insufferable as the man was – and after Arianna was safely taken care of he began loitering around the Campidoglio, observing the senators and trying to judge who would be worthy of approaching. The Florentine diplomat had his own league of spies, but Ezio wanted a few of his own, and not everything happened in the Vatican. Assaulting the Borgia would have to be a many-pronged attack, and Ezio wanted as many prongs as possible.

On top of everything else, of course.

Sighing, he watched the senators mill back and forth, and half listening to the herald speaking in the sunny square below the _palazzo_.

"The world itself is unchanging, and _we_ must change to understand _it_. Its secrets will only be revealed through a careful study of the truth; but we have been taught, incorrectly, theories by great men who were limited by archaic tools and beliefs. We live in a time of progress. Art, medicine, and philosophy; everyday new breakthroughs are made. But when we look to the sky, we do not question, we remain in the past. It is time to remand our schooling, to explore the world as it truly is. My colleagues and I have set up workshops throughout Roma, please visit us. We have much to share. Anyone who wishes to be enlightened, step forward: I have much to share. A new world awaits you. The truth comes to those who seek it out."

Ezio finally turned his head, watching the accented man as he continued his speech. Who was he to speak of truth and questioning archaic beliefs? To see the world as it truly was? That sounded hauntingly familiar, the rhetoric of the great Altair, the Codex now burned to ash in Monteriggioni. He turned to someone else in the crowd.

"Who is this man?" he asked softly.

"He comes from Prussia. I hear he studies at Il Vaticano, but his words are unlike any that issue from that place."

Indeed! Pope Alexander had made it abundantly clear in their previous confrontation that all he cared about was collecting power; and power meant – more often than not – knowledge. It was not much of a stretch to think that the old man kept more secrets than the Vault locked away in the Vatican; so how had such an intellect, a scholar, able to be permitted to speak such... such... heretical thoughts?

"Some may tell you to be content with Ptolemy's explanation of the heavens. His mathematical contortions of the spheres dancing around the Earth. But why are such complicated numbers required? Perhaps, to disguise a myriad of contradictions? You must question bad logic. It is why we live, to ask questions."

A scientist? An alchemist? A mathematician? Ezio frowned, trying to get a read on this man even as a part of him respected the words he was uttering. To question, to learn, to understand, it was the principal by which he had become an assassin, had become what he was. It was his desire to learn why his family had been betrayed and killed that had led him down this path. To hear it come from the lips of another man, to see it be enacted in something as far afield as science and astronomy, it made Ezio smile. A man after his own heart, it seemed.

That was when he saw the guards.

"Kill him quickly. The Master wants all scholars silenced by nightfall."

… Of _course_ the old man wouldn't let such forward thinking be allowed.

Ezio frowned. If the Borgia were involved, then so was he.

This was it, then.

This was his opening salvo to the Borgia, his announcement that he was still alive and was going to get in the way of everything they had planned. It was not what he had imagined in his lists and his plans, but he was not going to let such a golden opportunity pass. The master assassin discretely drew his sword, rolling his good and bad shoulders both, testing the scaring and the muscles. He was far from his best form, but with a deep breath he pushed it aside. His sword arm was still good, after all.

It was a squad of four, normally stationed at crossroads or steps; one was wearing a helmet with a crescent of hair, but the others wore no armor to speak of. Angling to the front of the crowd, Ezio's sharp eyes saw the speaker stutter to a stop as the aggressive men shoved the people away.

"What is the meaning of this?" the scholar demanded.

The response was the man in a helmet to lift a mace menacingly over his head. The scholar blinked in utter confusion, just standing there and not even running, as the weapon swung down. Ezio intercepted, blocking the strike and angling it away with a flourish before spinning on his heel and getting access to the leader's back, extending his hidden blade and shoving into the mans' kidney, firing his hidden gun and sparing no thought to the splatter of blood and the resounding echo over the square. His shoulder throbbed but little else. Good. The crowd was watching the fight with bloodthirsty glee, cheering and jeering and shouting profanities and making bets.

Two guards drew swords while the third hung back. Ezio let the pair circle him, allowed them to try and gauge him, assess him. When the first stepped forward for a strike, however, Ezio easily countered, knocking the blade away like it was a toothpick and jumping slightly into the air to angle his sword deep into the chest, above the collarbone for a quick stab that he then twisted before yanking it out. This was followed up with a tight spin around to the third guard, blocking a skilled strike and exchanging blows back and forth. Ezio smirked at the talent, knowing it would goad the other man before ducking under a swing and slashing his sword deep into the other man's back, centrifugal force adding strength to the blow. Blood sprayed everywhere, and with three dead at his feet as he stepped menacingly towards the fourth, the crowd finally realized it was a decidedly _bad idea_ to be watching the one-sided massacre.

"I'm not involved! I didn't see anything!"

"Why does this always happen to _me_?"

"Please, God, spare me!"

The fourth saw his allies at Ezio's feet and staggered back, utterly terrified, and turned to run. Ezio reloaded his gun and took careful aim, cursing the crowds getting in his line of sight, before the guard disappeared down the great steps. "_Merda_," he cursed quietly.

He cleaned his beloved sword of Altair on his red sash before turning to the scholar, pale and trying to even his breathing.

"Who... Who are you that defends without cause?"

"One who believes in freedom:" Ezio said by way of introduction. "Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

Still clutching his heart, Ezio saw recognition begin to fill the scholar's eyes. "Ezio..." he muttered, blinking. Courtesy finally settled on his shoulders, however, and he quickly returned the etiquette. "They call me Niccolò Copernico," he said with a polite bow. "I have heard your name spoken at the Borgia court. All thought you dead, and I posited you were little more than a phantom, but now I have proof that you truly exist."

Ezio frowned. He had not expected this clearly marked man to actually have access to the Borgia court. Oh, to study there was one thing, but actually participate with the pope? "Il Vaticano welcomes you, yet you are under attack by its guards?"

"You think me one of them?" he asked, gesturing to the guards and who had sent them. The false indignation did not last long, however, and he sighed. "Truthfully, you would be right. Yesterday, I was a Templar."

Yesterday? "And today?"

Copernico frowned, trying to explain: "The Templars wanted me to keep the findings of my experiments hidden, and that I cannot do. Such wondrous discoveries I've made! The thought of locking them away-"

Ezio interrupted, sensing a passionate harangue coming. "The Borgia hunt for you and your friends," he said, hoping the urgency would cut through the lecture.

Copernico's eyes doubled in size. "My fellow scholars? The logic of such a purge escapes me."

A distant shout, from the base of the steps, drifted up to the square. "Find Copernico!"

The scholar's eyes widened and his face paled again. "But we will discuss reasoning later...!" he said quickly.

Ezio took a moment to think, first. A Templar! Every fiber of his being screamed to kill the man on the spot, to make him pay for forsaking humanity and seeking to dominate the world; a Templar! That meant he was Borgia's man, was involved with the siege at Monteriggioni, the deaths of Mario and Ulderico, the capture of Caterina Sforza. What other sins had he committed? And yet... and yet... the Spaniard had sent men to kill him, lending credence to his story, and it seemed contradictory to see a Templar telling people to question bad logic, to ask questions.

… No. He couldn't think in terms of Templar or not; this man had been attacked, and now Ezio had to protect him. Assassins fight for the people, even the Templars themselves.

Nodding, Ezio said, "Follow me."

East lead to the countryside, where there were fewer guards. West was deeper in the city, with more guards but also more crowds to disappear in. He dithered briefly, before sighing and grabbing Copernico, going west. If they could get to the island... "Keep your head down," he muttered, easing them down the hill and into the first crowd he could find and immediately flirting with a woman with two children. They followed her to a market, and then to her house where Ezio bid her a fond farewell before ducking down an alley and joining another crowd in the opposing square, talking amiably while drawing well water and handing it to Copernico. Whenever he saw the city guards he wrapped an arm around his charge to ask him a question, blatantly getting in his face to block it from the patrols. Copernico watched with some fascination, but the latent fear of his imminent death prevented him from replying, and Ezio rolled with it, laughing boisterously and commenting that being so soft spoken was why he had no luck with the ladies. That made the other man flush a bright red as Ezio demonstrated how to charm a woman, nodding to a courtesan and tossing her some coin. Soon half a dozen women were surrounding the two men, humming and giggling and moaning and touching.

"Ladies," he said finally, eyes on a patrol of guards armed with lances and full armor, their helmets swinging this way and that as if they were looking for something. "Do you see those intriguing gentlemen over there?"

One girl clutched his arm to her ample bosom. "I doubt they're as strong as _you, Messere_, or as hard."

Ezio offered a charming grin. "Ah, but I must at last go home to my wife before she becomes a harpy of old, and my cousin here is sadly immune to your charms. Perhaps those men over there will meet your needs. At the very least," he added, pressing more money into her hand, "you can give them something to think about."

"Of _course, Messere_," she said, getting her girls and drifting away to the patrol. They started dancing, and Ezio gave himself a moment to appreciate the lithe curves before yanking Copernico away and down an alley.

Back in territory he was known in, he started glancing to the roofs to see if any of his apprentices were still practicing. He could find no one even with his eagle to help. Brats, but he would have to discipline them later. He had a Templar to attend to. God, what if the man was a plant, meant to bait Ezio into helping him and then backstabbing him later? His thoughts started circling in dark places, and he tried to shake it away. Breaking necks, slow strangulations, final gambits, exploding bone, death throws... He frowned, wondering why he was plummeting into such a bad mood, but he knew the answer even before he finished the thought.

He was taking a risk, leading Copernico here. He was taking a risk when he wasn't ready to take a risk, and he was too old now to do something so rashly; his experience was battling with his desire to follow the Creed, and he may well be paying for his decisions.

Machiavelli would _love_ this.

That thought soured his mood even further, but at last they crossed the Ponte Cisto and Ezio lead his charge to the warehouse.

"You will be safe here," he said, ushering the Prussian in.

"What of the other scholars?" Copernico asked, shifting his weight in nervous energy. "You say they are going to be killed."

"And you say you were a Templar until only yesterday," Ezio countered. "How do I know I can trust you?"

The Prussian frowned, considering the question. He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "How do you know anything? Knowledge gathering is a dangerous enterprise. Every act of learning is a risk, every lesson taught is painful. The very act is terrifying simply because of the possibility of shaking the very foundation on which the world rests. How frightening was it when that man Corombo set sail to the edge of the world? How shocking was it to learn there was an entire New World to explore? To learn that the earth is round cut us right to the core, and there are so many out there that don't want another such discovery. Easier to stay in place learning nothing, than to risk in order to truly know. Ignorance is so much simpler, so much more comfortable. You ask me how you can trust me? I do not know, but the learning must begin somewhere."

The man's logic was so like Altair's that Ezio gave pause. "All right. Enlighten me."

"I need to talk to my colleagues. We had set up workshops to share what we had discovered about the stars above us. They must be informed of the threat to their safety. Rest assured, they are not Templars as I am—was. And after today I _certainly_ have no intention of inducting them."

Yes, betrayal like that would cause such a reaction. Nodding, Ezio gave the Prussian parchment and quill while he went deeper into the warehouse.

Vecellio and Varzi were watching from the shadows.

"You brought a _Templar_ here?"

"Are we to torture him? See what he knows?"

"Kill him?"

"Is he a test?"

Ezio ignored their questions. "Get everyone here," he said simply, and in a quarter of a hour all six apprentices were assembled.

"We have a _guest_ here," Ezio said, emphasizing the word with a cold glare at Vecellio and Varzi. "The Templars have betrayed him and tried to kill him; and now they plan to kill his fellow scholars. Even now he is writing letters to his friends, and I want you, _all_ of you, to deliver them before nightfall."

"_Nightfall_!"

"I'm not that fast..."

"But he's a Templar!"

"What if we fail...?"

"If you fail," Ezio said in cold tones, his rich baritone echoing off the stone walls, "Then innocent men will die. Is that what you want?"

The question made everyone shift uncomfortably, remembering personal losses or painful experiences.

"_Bene_," Ezio said. "Get ready." Going back to Copernico, he collected the messages and got lists of locations and vague descriptions of the men his apprentices were to look for. He divvied up the deliveries quickly based on distance, and sent them all out. He watched them disappear into the shadows, noting with clinical pride the improvement of skill. All that was left now was to wait.

"_Auditore!_"

Or not.

Ezio turned. "Machiavelli," he said politely, bowing his head.

The diplomat stormed into the warehouse, his dour face red with anger before his small eyes locked on the Prussian scholar. Machiavelli went from red to purple on seeing him, and Ezio watched as he took a deep breath before managing a strained, "We must talk on the roof."

"Yes," Ezio agreed, "We must."

That was all the reprieve he had before Machiavelli got right to speaking his mind.

"I have been a patient man, Ezio," he said, pacing back and forth, hands gripped tightly behind his back. "I saw how injured you were after the attack, I realized how long it would take to let you heal, and I waited. God _knows_ I waited, but now I find you've been pulling the wool over my eyes! I know you don't want to go against the Borgia, I would be hesitant too, after such a blow, but now, _now_ you slaughter city guards in front of witnesses at_ Campidoglio_ of all places and for what? To save some worthless _scientist_? What about the _Borgia_? Have you turned coward?!"

Ezio felt his entire body bristle at the assault on his character but he held himself in check.

"If you've the energy to announce your presence so loudly then surely, _surely_, you've energy enough to kill those damnable devils that are at the seat of Roma! Ezio, _what are you doing?_"

"_I am following the Creed, _Machiavelli," Ezio hissed, taking a menacing step forward. "You don't have to agree with it, you don't have to like it, but you have to _respect_ it. I have told you over and over that killing the Borgia will be utterly _meaningless_ if it is for the wrong reasons. I chased that old man for _twenty years_, and when the time came I nearly lost my life because I was fighting for myself, for my family, for my revenge. The only reason I won that day was because I let all of that go."

"_But you didn't win!_" Machiavelli countered, his voice raised before he caught himself. "Not a week later and Monteriggioni fell to dust and you were nearly killed. Explain to me how any part of that is a _victory_?"

"The victory is that _I learned!_" Ezio shouted, his voice echoing off the river. "Look at us, Machiavelli: Assassins kill Templars, Templars kill Assassins, the cycle goes on and on and _on_, and if we let it the hatred will boil to the point where we all forget what this is about! What's the point of being an Assassin if we let men like Copernico be slaughtered because he dares to question bad logic? _You_ won't even let logic enter the equation; you're too focused on the end to think that the means justify it!"

"We're Assassins, Ezio, just what kind of means to you think we _have_?"

"But we can't let our work defile us, Machiavelli, it's why we have the tenets to begin with."

"This is not some idealistic principality, Ezio, this is the real world!"

"I know!"

"_Then start living in it!_"

"_I am!_" Ezio shouted over the man. For a beat the two men glared at each other, and then they took a deep breath.

"_Merda_," Ezio cursed, rubbing his forehead to stave off a headache and praying their raised voices didn't travel too far in the wind. "Look," he said slowly, suddenly tired. "I was scouting the Palazzo Senatorio to assess the senators and see what went on there. Copernico, he was lecturing when the Borgia tried to kill him. I can't let innocent men be harmed, it goes against the Creed. I know," he said when he saw the Florentine diplomat start to protest, "You can debate it being foolish and reckless, but I saw it as an opportunity. Think of it as an opening salvo to the papacy; the Spaniard seems to think I'm still dead, and the failure to kill that scholar will make him wonder, question, doubt. The lack of further retaliation will make him even further confused, and it give me time to train the apprentices and earn enough money that I can do more things. God knows a man can do little enough with no florins to his name. I wasn't going to let a chance like that slip through my fingers."

"That... is a good plan," Machiavelli said slowly. "You are right, it will buy you time."

"I'm still not ready," Ezio said, touching his shoulder. "You should see me climb; I don't have the strength yet, the endurance. I need all the time we can muster."

"... Very well. I'll go along with this. But you are still an _idiota_ for bringing that man here."

Ezio snorted. "Whatever you say, Machiavelli."

The diplomat went inside, but Ezio did not follow, deciding instead to give the pair of them space after (yet another) heated argument. It wasn't that he didn't see Machiavelli's point, but Ezio just couldn't bring himself to have such a dismal view of the world and not try to change it. He saw the poverty, the disease, the destitution and degenerates – he was _part_ of it in many ways, but it was _because_ he saw those things that he wanted to do something, anything, to make it better. If the Assassins couldn't help shape the world, couldn't help the world see that nothing was true and everything was permitted, then what was the point of being an Assassin? How could man realize the ideal if there was no one there to set an example? This was why men like the Borgia and the Templars were always so successful; they _left_ men to their chaotic search and took the reins in the meantime to enjoy the power they had over those that were so unenlightened. Templars stepped _over_ people, Ezio wanted to work _with_ them.

He looked north, staring at the Castel Sant'Angelo, his thoughts very loud in his head.

* * *

One at a time, his apprentices came back, out of breath, to report their successes. Of the five deliveries, one proved to be too late, delivering the letter just before a crossbow bolt had taken the scholar down. Enu said nothing, his dark face stoic, but Ezio saw the pain of the failure and put a hand on his shoulder. It was midnight before everyone returned, and when Ezio finally reentered the warehouse, he saw Machiavelli had again disappeared. He sighed.

Copernico was asleep in a chair, a fire going in the single hearth of the warehouse. Ezio left the man to his dreams and went to bed himself. The next morning he gave the news.

"All letters are delivered. All but one man was able to retreat to safety. I'm sorry, but Gino is dead."

The Prussian closed his eyes, absorbing the loss slowly, before nodding his head. Eyes dark, he looked to Ezio with intense purpose. "While you were gone, I determined the most likely source of these strange attacks: the Master of the Sacred Palace."

"Who is that?"

"A Dominican appointed by the Pope who ensures that Roman religious philosophy remains pure." Copernico made a face. "He never liked my studies to begin with, now that I have crossed the Templars he clearly retaliated."

Ezio nodded. "Where can I find him?"

"Cardinals typically congregate by the Ponte Sant'Angelo. Follow one of them. The Master likes to greet each one. Perhaps you will hear more conclusive evidence. All I can offer is supposition."

A scholar through and through. Ezio nodded, grabbing Vecellio and taking him along as they left the island and made their way north. The master Assassin was determined to be prepared this time, and the young man needed practice with his tailing. It was midmorning by the time they reached the Ponte Sant'Angelo, the bridge connecting Rome to the Vatican. Originally built in 134, it had been exactly fifty years since the bridge had buckled under the weight of pilgrims, killing dozens. Rebuilt and stronger, massive flags hung from poles, papal colors filling the air. Cardinals passed back and forth on business, their rich red and white robes like great targets on their backs.

"How to we know who to follow, _Maestro_?" Vecellio asked.

Ezio closed his eyes, asking his eagle to help, and scanned the crowds. He saw the flicker of gold; one cardinal had just crossed the bridge. "Him," he said pointing. "He is walking fast, like he's in a hurry, and he's shifting his eyes back and forth, making certain he is not followed. A man such as that is up to no good."

Vecellio whistled from their spot on the roofs. "You have good eyes, _Maestro_."

The two split up to tail the cardinal; Vecellio with the more difficult route on the street and Ezio on the roofs to give his shoulder a workout. The cardinal was hurried in his steps, and prone to looking behind, giving the apprentice quite the challenge, but Ezio noted he took to the task well, finally using crowds and corners to his advantage, looking natural. Ezio himself was unseen, even by the guards on the roofs. They walked for almost an hour, taking a circuitous route before Ezio, darting ahead to try and predict the cardinal's movements, saw a particularly nasty squad of guards – including a highly trained captain and a heavily armored brute – waiting in a small square. That could only mean trouble, and the master Assassin stretched out on his belly on the roof, leaning forward to give his utmost attention, easily spotting Vecellio conversing with a doctor nearby to eavesdrop as well.

The cardinal spoke with the captain at some length before a priest approached. "Master," he said.

"Giuliano. Any news of Copernico and the others?"

"Nothing," the priest said humbly.

The cardinal scoffed. "Those fools, inundating the people with their theories. We can barely contain the populace as it is, the last thing we need is them doubting our very doctrine. I have dispatched my best guards to deal with them. I trust they will make quick work of it."

The two departed.

Signaling the apprentice, Ezio cursed, starting to make his way back to Tiberina. "We must stop them," he said.

"_Maestro_, why are Templars planning to kill one of their own?"

And so Ezio spent the entire way back explaining Copernico, as well as Templar philosophy in general and why they were about to do what they were doing. When they returned, Ezio sent another apprentice to see if he could find a good bolthole, a place for Copernico to hide that wasn't the warehouse. After that, he approached the Prussian scholar.

"You were right," he said simply. "The Master of the Sacred Palace intends to kill you."

The scholar gulped, the weight of the words settling over him; and for a long moment he sat in deep contemplation, before he shook his head. "I will not let his bullying stop my research. Tonight there is an eclipse. I intend to chronicle it."

Ezio balked. "But the Master hunts for you."

Copernico shook his head. "Better to die enlightened, than to live in ignorance."

So like Altair...

"His end will come much sooner than yours," Ezio assured. A glance brought three apprentices to his side, and he made plans to protect the scholar that night.

And so it was that three days before he turned forty-one, Ezio stood on the highest hill in Rome. Two apprentices had been sent to deal the Master of the Sacred Palace a swift death, Ezio nervous for the youngsters but putting his faith in them. Copernico had two assistants with him, and a whole host of instruments that were utterly foreign to the master assassin. The sun set in a glorious sky, Copernico marveling as the stars began to appear and the moon to climb to its heights. The view became brighter as the city lights began to extinguish, and Ezio shifted on his feet, his eagle making his eyes sharp enough to see through the black shadows. All four apprentices looked upon him with envy.

They circled the perimeter of the hill, a discrete distance from the scholars so as to not distract them, the master assassin reminding his apprentices to mind their ears; the aqueduct would obscure the approaching guards.

Near midnight, instinct more than anything else made Ezio look down the road, and he saw the faintest glint of the moonlight on a spear. With a sharp whistle he called the other four before the master assassin himself extended his hidden blade and leapt from the ancient Roman column he had been using to keep watch. He plummeted down, gravity pulling him close like a lover, and soon he was upon the lancer, blade sinking seep into the soft tissues of the neck even as he angled his body to make the guard cushion his fall. It was a perfect silent kill, though its prowess went unnoticed as his apprentices engaged in a much louder scuffle, maces and swords clashing against lances and axes. Ezio darted between the individual fights, stabbing from behind or cutting a throat, all while keeping his eyes on Copernico and making sure none bothered him. How the Prussian concentrated through the noise was anyone's guess.

The fight was not as one-sided as Ezio had hoped; one apprentice took a devastating slash to a thigh, and Varzi was hard pressed to hold her own. It was another thing on his list of things to teach, but when all was said and done, they were all alive and the guards were all dead. He looked at the dozen bodies, face dark, as he offered a soft "_Requiescat in pace_," to the bodies before nodding to the apprentices to take care of them.

Moving back up the hill to check on Copernico, he saw the scholar smiling in the bright moonlight.

"Is the world not marvelous?" he asked, voice bright and wondrous even as he took copious notes on what he saw.

Ezio thought of the bodies being dragged away, the senseless slaughter. "Some of it," he said darkly.

The Prussian scoffed. "You should not be so emotional. You will find it all makes more sense that way."

"... Perhaps."

The red moon began to disappear, the eclipse starting.

"Cesare thinks himself the center of it all, but he circles the periphery with the rest of us," Copernico said, eyes locked on the sky. "... Did you know that the sun is most likely the midpoint of the universe, not the Earth? I see the movements of the moon and stars, and yet I can only observe. So much is unknown to me. This age of reason is but the beginning of an end I will never see. Someday we will be able to influence this world, to exploit the power of the human will to harness light and perhaps even travel into the heavens!"

Ezio blinked. Use light to fly like a bird?

… Even Altair, through his study of the Apple, never saw such a thing in his visions. This man was not the great master assassin after all.

He was just mad.

But... Altair had learned that the earth was round long before Corombo had discovered it. Perhaps...

"But I am getting ahead of myself," the Prussian said, sighing at the moon faded even further, "first we must see the sun spinning at the center."

He nodded. "I believe what you say is possible."

At last Copernico looked away from the moon, pausing in his taking of notes. "You should not accept my word," he said in earnest. "Not until I have proof. Soon."

He nodded again.

"_Buona notte_, Ezio, and thank you."

"_Buona notte_."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Yeah. So. Desmond has finally figured out what Sixteen is trying to tell them, we shoe-horned the "Wassa matta you, Altair?" (which, to us, was such a RANDOM thing in the game...) he has another weird dream. Lots of ground covered for him.

And he hasn't evens started going nuts... :P More on that in later chapters.

Ezio, perennially, is more interesting. Once of the great things about the AC games is the political and philosophical commentary that runs around - most notably in AC1 and AC3 (well, for us they stick out the most). There is a level of sophistication and nuance to it that always makes us perk when we hear it, and the Copernico memories were no different. To listen to a scholar - who was a former Templar no less - extol the the principals of reason was a treat, and however mindless the letter deliveries are, that moment when Copernico justifies Ezio trusting him is a favorite. So of course we expounded on it to the extreme :)

Logistics are still haunting Ezio, he now has six other mouths to feed. Three of them are named right off the bat for the Project Legacy people, and Ezio hasn't even started recruiting novices. Over the course of the fic, there will be a lot of names thrown around, some of them first names and some of them last names, to try and keep it all straight. More on that later.

And oh. There might have been this little fight with Machiavelli. And they usually get along so well... :P The fight sort of explains itself though, it's the ultimate division in their philosophies: Machiavelli is a big picture man while Ezio is a person of the now. They will likely _never_ get along, poor things. At least they knew to take a breath and back up. Don't worry, the conflict will resolve. Eventually.

Next chapter: Federica. That's _sure_ to go well.


	6. Progress by Inches

**Part Six: Progress by Inches**

On his birthday, Ezio was busy as usual, this time going over finances with his bankers Matteo and Romeo. The nest egg that the other guilds had given him, as well as the looting of the Borgia tower, was just about out, and once again Ezio was considering creative ways to earn money. Now that he had six apprentices to outfit, feed, and train, the money became nothing more than smoke. Dante's renovations were only half complete, and he had not heard from either Volpe or Bartolomeo on how his investments with them were going. Surely three months was enough to finish...?

His mind heavy with such thoughts, he sat on the Ponte Sisto, trying to figure out how he could muddle through the next month.

"_Zio_ 'zio!"

The forty-one year old master assassin's heart skipped a beat, his head snapping up and whirling to the far side of the bridge as a little girl of eleven years skipping happily over the bridge with the sole intent of stopping his heart.

"Federica!" was the strangled, high pitched noise that came out of Ezio's mouth. "What are you _doing_ here?" That was a hiss.

"It's your birthday, Zio, I came to help you celebrate!"

Ezio struggled to decide on being touched or infuriated. "How did you get here?"

"I snuck out of the apartments when Grandmother wasn't looking, and I practiced walking through the crowds just like Mother was teaching me. You didn't see me coming, right?"

Right. Infuriated it was. Ezio grabbed his niece's arm and started hauling her back over the bridge. "It's not safe for you here, Federica," he said in a tight voice.

"I know, _Zio_, that's why I practiced...!"

But Ezio ignored her until he found a secluded courtyard, snapping the gate shut with his bad arm and wincing as it pulled at his wound. He turned furious eyes to his niece. "Now," he said in a low, menacing baritone, "_What_ are you doing here?"

The eleven-year-old glared at him balefully, crossing her arms and assuming a stance that echoed her mother. "Is it wrong to wish you a happy birthday, _Zio?"_

"Then why did you sneak out?"

The girl frowned, looking away and working her jaw into a beautiful pout. Ezio was more than willing to out-wait her, and crossed his arms over his chest and looked down on her. Federica assessed the gaze, before sighing and sitting on a bench. "I wanted to ask you something," she said, sullen.

Ezio sat down next to her. "What is it?" he asked in a softer voice.

"I wanted to know why you don't visit me now that we're in Roma. I wanted to know why you look down on Mother."

The master assassin blinked. "Who told you that?"

"... Mother and Grandmother were talking, they thought I was asleep. She said you've looked down on her for her entire life, and that's why you're being so hard on her now."

"_Piccina,_ I have never 'looked down' on your mother," Ezio said softly, touching her shoulder. Where on _earth_ did Claudia get such an idea, anyway?

"Then why don't you visit us?"

"... Because I am a busy man," Ezio said slowly, trying to figure out how he could explain this to a little girl. "When Monteriggioni was attacked, we lost a lot of things, and I'm working to try and get them back. There's a lot to do, and I want to get it done as quickly as possible so we can all go back to normal."

Federica frowned at the explanation, but said nothing. They sat together for several minutes, Ezio still struggling to understand why his sister thought so little of him. He had never _once_ looked down on Claudia. They were almost as close as he had been with Federico, the pain of the memory duller with time. The two of them had promised that no one would make Claudia cry, and they held to that vow with eager vigilance; the pair threatened many a suitor, Ezio had beaten up her former betrothed, and they terrorized anyone who upset her. They were protecting her honor, her innocence, her womanhood. Ezio's greatest failure was that he could _not_ do those things when their family had been hanged. He couldn't ensure her security, and because of that her innocence had been stolen away forever. Worse, now she wouldn't even let him protect what little security she had left, and he just couldn't understand how any of that equated to him _looking down_ on her. Where did it come from?

Sighing, he turned to his niece. "Let us get you home," he said softly.

"But... I want to help you."

"You can help me by giving me peace of mind," he said smoothly, "and letting me escort you home."

Federica pouted again, unhappy with the brushoff. In her, at least, honor and innocence were intact, and he would be _damned_ if he let it be stolen away to.

Maria was there to greet them, and she deftly spirited Federica away to a lesson of some sort before rejoining her son. "You look troubled, Ezio."

"Mother..." he said slowly. He was hesitant to bring his problems to her, even after all these years her spirit was fragile after the loss of Giovanni, and sometimes she would drift away before coming back. But... she was still his mother, and so he explained the disturbing conversation with Federica. Maria sat and listened, taking in everything as Ezio recounted everything he had done, all his proof that he didn't look down on his sister.

"Oh, Ezio," she said. "But you do."

… What?

"... _What_?"

Maria leaned forward and touched his knee. "Tell me, Ezio, do you think of Paola and Teodora differently than, say, Antonio or Bartolomeo?"

"Of course not, they are Assassins."

"Then you would let them lead you into battle?"

"_Mother_, that's different." Women couldn't fight; the very thought...!

Maria stared at him for a long time before saying, "Ezio, you think of a battle in only one way: on the field. You don't yet understand that there are different kinds of battles that require different kinds of skills. Until you do, you will only ever see Claudia, see all women, as something to be hidden away and protected, and you will never learn that women fight just as hard as men."

Ezio stared at his mother, uncomprehending. Women fight as hard as men? How... What...?

"But, if you insist on fights being on the battlefield, there is one fight I can arrange for you: the previous owner, Madonna Solari was a cheat and a liar; you already knew that, but her ties to the Church have recently been uncovered. Her brother Santino claims ownership of Claudia and the brothel. He struggles to gain Borgia favor and must prove himself leader of the courtesans. Claudia is very good at giving him the runaround, but he grows more desperate and therefore more violent. Humiliate him in public and he loses the support of the Borgia. We will not hear from him again."

Ezio leaned back in the settee. "So she does need help," he murmured to himself.

"No, Ezio, she doesn't; but your aid will make things go more quickly."

The two stood and Ezio made to leave, but Maria caught his arm for one last word. "Ezio... a woman in this world has exactly three futures: a nunnery, a brothel, or a husband. The only one she is allowed to choose on her own is the one that is the most esoteric. Claudia is making a fourth option for herself, and until you see that, it will all be for naught. Giovanni will explain it better to you once he's put Petruccio to bed."

_That_ made Ezio stand very still, staring at his mother. She had never, not _once_ uttered those names after the hanging; it was a silent taboo that everyone agreed on, and to have her mention his father and his brother, _as if they were still alive_, left Ezio more disturbed than when he had arrived.

He spent the whole night on the roof of the warehouse, thinking about his family.

But, unfortunately, life moved on and there was too much to do for Ezio to dwell on... odd things. The next morning he received a pigeon from Volpe saying the inn was complete and to drop by and see it, and so it wasn't long before he was riding south to the edge of the city.

Nestled in a broken forest, dark shadows perfect for thieves, the inn rose to a modest height, looking distinctly half-finished, which made Ezio frown briefly. Riding around, he saw scaffolding and exposed beams, only one ladder and a platform that hung out over... His eyes widened as they traced one course after another. This was a training course, to help thieves learn how to run and climb; of _course_ the inn had to look half-built, otherwise there would be no way to train. Guiding his horse back around to the front, he saw several city guards stumble out of the inn, clearly drunk, and he smiled.

Tying his horse, he entered the inn to see a courtesan dancing on a table, a dozen men hunched over a game, several barrels of wine and poorly lit candles. Smoke and sweat assaulted his nostrils; the place was dark, moody, and claustrophobic. Cups were dented and dinged, food was cheap, and wine flowed readily.

It was perfect.

"Welcome. Ezio, to La Volpe Addormentata."

Ezio turned to see La Volpe himself, having appeared almost like the smoke itself.

"The inn looks perfect. No one will ever suspect its real purpose."

"Come, I've something to show you." The fox lead the master assassin to a back room filled with massive wine casks, squeezing between two that lead to a narrow stairwell and to an upper room, secret from any prying eyes. "The guild will be run from here," Volpe said brightly, "Visit me whenever you like. The Borgia are already spreading the word on this place: cheap food and cheap wine, and gambling. Ah, yes, I forgot. We have gambling. It is a great source of income, especially since we ensure that the Borgia guards lose. Here."

Volpe lifted up a loose floorboard, reaching in and pulling out a pouch of substantial size. The chinking noise gave no doubt to its contents, and he tossed it to Ezio. "Our first week's earnings. For you."

"... What?"

"You said at the meeting that you were out of money, Ezio. Thieves know better than anyone what it's like to have nothing – it's why many of us became thieves. I have an idea on how you're spending your money, and the next year will be very difficult for you because of it. I don't know how much your sister is paying you, but I know Bartolomeo won't have steady income until next year at least, and so: a gift. One third the earnings of the gambling until you are on your feet."

Ezio blinked, shocked. His first instinct was to refuse it, but he knew doing so would be foolishness, and so he quietly pocketed the florins. "A generous offer for a thief," he said simply.

"And not without its price," Volpe replied.

… Of course.

"And your payment is...?"

"None of this money can be accessed by Machiavelli."

"Volpe..."

"Gilberto."

"What?"

"You can call me Gilberto when we are alone. You are a good man, Ezio; I've watched you grow from an angry boy to a skilled man. You're much like your father, and I don't want to see you betrayed like he was. So, put it somewhere Machiavelli can't touch it."

Ezio nodded his head, softly, unable to refute the mention of his father. The two went back downstairs and squeezed past the barrels. "Another thing," Vol—Gilberto said. "While you are here, many of my younger charges want a race."

"Will they be a challenge?" Ezio asked, grinning at the thought and glad for the distraction.

"Not in the slightest, but _they_ do not know that."

"Then let us make it the day after tomorrow; I want my apprentices to participate as well."

Gilberto grinned. " 'Will they be a challenge?' "

"Let's make a bet on that."

The race took place at the old Roman Forum at night. All six apprentices, a half dozen thieves, plus Ezio and Gilberto himself. The master assassin and master thief looked at each other as the route was decided on, both grinning under their hoods. Ezio knew he was not back to his peak, and accepted ahead of time that he would lose the race, but that didn't mean he was going to give the winner an easy time, and as they readied themselves at the start, they gave each other one last nod.

A courtesan extinguished a torch, the signal to begin, and they were off: dashing along the walls of the forum, hopping from broken column to wall to arch, shoving and dodging and trying to stay up on the higher and higher heights. Ezio's shoulders strained against the workout, but it felt _so good_ to be running again, and as they ran along the tops of columns, Ezio bypassed Gilberto without any effort, putting on a burst of speed before leaping off the colonnade, and for a brief moment he was flying like an eagle, free of thought and worry and reality, before gravity pulled her to him and he flipped, landing in the haystack set up previously and rolling out. Gilberto landed the second he was clear, and the two grinned at each other as they waited for the others to catch up.

"I was surprised to surpass you," Ezio said, winded.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," Gilberto said simply, shrugging his shoulder. "I've got perhaps five more years in me before I'm past my peak, but at least a dozen before these whelps have any hope of catching me."

One of his apprentices made it to the colonnade and utterly froze when she realized she had to jump; making one of the thieves crash into her in a frantic attempt to stop and a brilliant fall into the hay. Gilberto was already scolding the thief, and Ezio pulled the apprentice to ask what had happened as the others arrived and, subsequently, struggled to leap into the hay.

"Do none of you know how to do a Leap of Faith?" Ezio asked, bewildered.

The answer was a humiliated "no."

Another thing on his list.

* * *

It was the middle of July, Ezio knee deep in trying to find a location to safely practice the Leap of Faith for his new apprentices – it couldn't be done at night until they already had some exposure to the concept – when a courtesan arrived at the warehouse.

"_Messere_," she said politely, her cloying nature hidden away as she got right to business. "_Madonna_ Maria wishes you to know that Santino has returned to trouble the Rosa in Fiore, and that now would be a good time to handle him."

He pushed himself off the table. "Of course."

"Come, I will lead you to him."

Grabbing an apprentice to watch and learn, Ezio took to the streets, Enu to the roofs, as the courtesan guided him through the throngs of people. "He is distinctive in his rich clothes and his pale skin; he has a mole on his neck and is probably beating a sister as we speak."

"I understand."

"You should see the way _Madonna_ Claudia deals with him," she said with a breathy voice. "It is a sight to behold."

"... It can't be much of a sight if I'm the one dealing with him."

The courtesan shrugged. "He is a man," she said, as if that explained everything. "He cannot abide being put in his place by a woman; it makes him angrier and more desperate. All men want to control things, _Messere_, and small men do that by controlling women. Santino is a small man and cannot understand that he is not in control. Only a man can show him that."

The words whistled right over Ezio's head, and he frowned as they made their way to one of Rome's many upper levels. Santino was easily found, cursing and beating a courtesan who was trying to get away. A small crowd was gathered, cheering as always at the public entertainment. Ezio calmly stepped in and dropped the man in three successive punches. Noticing he was near the Pantheon, he nodded to the courtesan; she disappeared as he picked up the groaning man and hoisted him over his good shoulder. A glance at the roof saw the apprentice still following, and he made his way down a series of stairs slowly, the weight shifting constantly.

By the time he had entered the main square, the courtesan had at least two dozen other courtesans with her, silently falling behind Ezio to make a spectacle of him. Everyone turned to watch, looking up from books or stopping conversations, turning heads as Ezio marched right up to the glorious fountain in front of the Pantheon.

He threw the man in, water splashing everywhere. Santino sputtered, struggling to get up and curse in indignation.

Ezio turned to the crowd, stepping up to the lip of the fountain and surrounded by courtesans. "This man is a worthless liar!" he shouted. "A philanderer and a cutthroat and a thief! The courtesans of Roma will never answer to him!"

And then, one by one, the courtesans all spat on the soaking wet Santino before disappearing into the crowds.

Ezio was already gone.

Two weeks later in the first week of August, Ezio got another pigeon, this time from Pantasilea saying the barracks were completed. The pigeon poked at his hand, making him realize he had fallen asleep at his desk again, and he groaned as he stretched, glancing at his lists. Time was quickly becoming the commodity most often swindled, and he couldn't figure out how he could balance training his recruits, find a place to teach them about the Leap of Faith, do favors for the citizens of Rome, plan assaults on Borgia towers, and, well, everything else he had to do. With Pantasilea's letter he realized there was an _excellent_ way to delegate the work, and so he grabbed four of his apprentices that hadn't come from military backgrounds and rode east to Bartolomeo's new barracks.

The compound was massive and stood on one of Rome's seven hills, an excellent view of the surrounding area and a large, easily defendable courtyard for which to do drills. And drills Ezio and his apprentices saw; two dozen men moving as one entity, swinging, striking, slashing, four men walking around them and cursing them into correcting form, adjusting footing, tweaking grip.

A nod to one of the squad leaders and the master Assassin was dismounting, his apprentices following suit, and entered the main building of the barracks. An assistant immediately disappeared, presumably to retrieve Bartolomeo, and Ezio smiled at the massive improvement.

"_Maestro_, what are we doing here?"

"You will see," he said softly.

"Ezio!"

"Bartolomeo!"

The mercenary burst from a set of stairs, the men gripping each other in a firm handshake. "Look at this place! Isn't she a thing of beauty?"

Ezio nodded. "Very impressive."

"More men join us every day. It has become very competitive, which is just the way I like it. Are you here for another bout? I'm certain it will impress the little girls I just got."

"Not right now," Ezio said easily in his rich baritone. "But I've a better proposition: I have some apprentices here who need some refinement of their blade work. Are you and your men up to the task?"

"Am I _up _for it? Ezio, I was _born_ for it! Giovanni!" he added, turning his head. "Get four more bunks prepared, we have some new sissies to teach how to fight." He turned back to the master Assassin. "Don't worry, Ezio, I'll split their vaginas wide open and make them grow real balls in no time."

Ezio grinned. "You have two months."

"Ha! A challenge. I like it!"

Ezio turned to the suddenly pale faces of his apprentices, grinning brightly, as a third voice filtered up from below. "Gian's fighting downstairs!"

"If you'll excuse me," Bartolomeo said quickly, "I've got money on this match. Actually, why don't your little girls come, we'll see what skills they think they have."

For the next three hours Bartolomeo wiped the floor with all of Ezio's apprentices, picking out quickly what skills they did or didn't have while they all fought each other. Vecellio surprised them all with his skill, until Enu threw him down on the dirt floor, and so on and so forth. Ezio gained a more accurate appraisal of their skills, and Bartolomeo offered his own insights as the two whispered back and forth between bouts, deciding how to train them and what to have them specialize in.

"While you're here, Ezio, I'd like to ask you something," Bartolomeo said that evening over supper.

"Yes?"

"What do you know of the Colonna family?"

"Nothing recent," Ezio said, "I haven't exactly been in a place to keep an eye on things. Didn't they back the French in '95?"

"Well, they've been captured by the Borgia."

Ezio snorted. Of course they were.

"I know where they are being held. My recruits are good, but I want them to witness a skill of a different kind. Consider it a mission; I'll pay you for it."

The master assassin winced, knowing he could not refuse the payment, and nodded.

The next morning they were out in the August heat, Ezio and his apprentices on the roofs and Bartolomeo and his men on the streets, watching an otherwise nondescript building in the city proper. Vecellio, spying from the highest point, gave an eagle whistle, and Ezio stepped to the edge of the roof, catching Bartolomeo's eye and nodding. The plan was quick and dirty, but played distinctly to the Assassin strengths. Bartolomeo's men watched as an impressive array of a dozen highly skilled men walk out to escort the Colonna cousins to a new location, presumably for more torture, if the wounds they bore were any indication. None of the mercenaries looked up; none even realized their imminent deaths as Ezio raised his arm up in the air and made a fist.

Three smoke bombs dropped from on high, the thick smoke causing several mercenaries to cough out of reflex. That moment of inattention left Ezio and two others to leap from their perches, angling their falls and assassinating three of the dozen. The other apprentice appeared from where he had been hidden on a bench and began working at the bonds. Five more of the dozen were down by the time the smoke at last dissipated, and with only four left Ezio lifted his hidden gun and took careful aim before firing. The sound of the shot reverberated all throughout the street, and people ran screaming away, having learned quickly that shots meant bullets and bullets went _anywhere_. Vecellio took care of the last guard, and Ezio looked at the litter of bodies at his feet.

And he sighed.

"_Requiescat in pace,_" he offered, before turning to the cousins.

"You have saved us, friend," one of the cousins said.

"You are not free yet," Ezio said hurriedly, making long powerful strides towards Bartolomeo. "Prepare yourselves, it's a long trek to safety."

"One we gladly make," the other cousin said. Bartolomeo already had weapons for the pair, and Ezio motioned for his apprentices to disappear, which they did for the most part. Good _lord_ some of them needed to learn the art of invisibility.

It was because of one apprentice's lack of skill that a roof guard sounded the signal, and soon they were swarmed with city guards. Bartolomeo quickly took command of the field, and the Colonna cousins were more than happy to take orders, falling in rank quickly and Ezio following suit. The apprentices, unfortunately, did not have the sense to see they had everything under control and tried to intercede. The older ones, Vecellio, Enu, and Varzi, held their own, but the seventeen-year-old Antonello was too excited and too brash and _too untrained_, and Ezio watched in horror as one of the city guards, a highly trained captain in a cape and a crested helmet, leapt up onto a horse confiscated from a civilian and charge the group. The mercenaries were trained to deal with horses, and Ezio was fast enough that such a thing did not affect him, but Antonello was not so fortunate, and the downward sword strike split his chest open in a spray of blood. One of the apprentices shrieked, he couldn't tell who, and Ezio saw nothing but red after that as the pain of his losses threw him into a tightly controlled rage.

He reloaded his gun while walking, taking careful aim before shooting the horse and making the captain tumble. Extending his hidden blade and drawing his sword, he advanced on the soon-to-be corpse. The man stumbled to his feet, sword in hand, and took a classic stance. The white shadow of death would have none of _that_, however, and deflected the first strike away and spinning in a tight circle, stabbing the man in the lower back, a classic kidney puncture, before yanking the hidden blade out and taking the sword of Altair and stabbing again, a visceral slash from shoulder to hip, blood spraying everywhere just as Antonello's had. Retracting the sword, he let the body fall to the ground before lifting the blade again and stabbing it downward, into the eye socket. Then he stabbed the other socket, and then again into the heart.

When he could finally think again, he turned to see Bartolomeo and his men were finishing the last of the city guards. Bodies were everywhere, but Ezio's golden eyes only saw one. He climbed over the corpses, heedless of the blood and bodily fluids and brain matter, heedless of the scent of death and feces, heedless of the heavy quiet that settled over everyone as they watched Ezio walk to Antonello and kneel down. The boy was still alive, but he would not be for long.

"_Maestro_," he gurgled. "You were right... only now do I realize... I'm sorry..." Tears were spilling unabashedly down his face, brown eyes laced with agony.

"It will all be over soon," Ezio said softly, placing a hand on a bloody shoulder. "And then there will be silence."

He died.

"... _Requiescat in pace_," he said, "_fratello mio_." He closed the eyes.

"Ezio," Bartolomeo said, "We can handle the rest. Send the apprentices next week."

"... _Si_. _Grazie._"

That night Machiavelli arrived, initially irate that Ezio had made another spectacle, but he saw the gravity of the warehouse.

"I'll make arrangements to dump the body in the Tevere," Machiavelli said, "if it has not been done already. I assume there was nothing incriminating on him?"

Ezio hadn't even thought of that. "I... don't know," he confessed.

Machiavelli nodded and disappeared, doing a duty Ezio hadn't even known he was supposed to do. Ezio had never left brothers in the field, almost all of the work he had done as an Assassin had been alone, and those other excursions had been with Mario, who always handled clean up. Ezio had always left bodies where they had fallen, sometimes looting them, sometimes not. He had done the same thing here; just... left. He winced at the very thought, a low growl escaping his throat before he marched up to the roof of the warehouse. No, wait, he needed supplies first. Brushing past the remaining apprentices he grabbed a brazier and tinder, noisily making his way up to the roof and setting it up, lighting a fire and feeding it slowly. The others joined, standing around the fire in silence, lost in thought or memory.

Ezio was no different. He could picture his father and brothers so clearly, even after all these years, and Cristina, and Mario and Ulderico. All the deaths blurred together, he remembered the times he had been forced to commit unmitigated slaughter, bodies upon bodies at his feet, and what was it all for? Who benefited from so much death?

Even the fire was pittance, it did not do Antonello justice, it did not show what he had chosen to become.

Frustrated, Ezio pulled down his hood to run his fingers through his hair, before growling wholesale and pulling his hood off completely. It was a small offering indeed, but fitting nonetheless.

He tossed his hood into the fire.

And, one by one, the others did the same.

They tended the fire all night.

The next day Ezio stretched out a canvas and began painting. Within a week he had the rough contours and shapes of Antonello's face, and the apprentices watched him paint in pain and awe at the honor he was paying. September passed by quietly for the master assassin, money coming in regularly from Claudia and Volpe, as well as news from Bartolomeo about Cesare's movements in central Italy. Giovanni Sforza was conquered at Pesaro; a man who had once been Lucrezia's husband now kicked aside and dominated. The apprentices were hardly seen, training under the mercenary as they were, and the quiet gave Ezio time to work on his painting.

In the middle of October he finished, as did the training of his apprentices by Bartolomeo. They arrived and more than one openly wept at the portrait of Antonello, placing a hand on the gilded frame and remembering or praying.

Machiavelli arrived and stared at the portrait for a long time, before turning to Ezio. "I have a mission for you," he said slowly, "If you are up to it."

"What is it?"

"Friedrich der Weise," Machiavelli replied. "He is a scholar among other things, and he wants to found an academic institution in the city of Wittenberg. His work has openly questioned the Borgia, and the thought of having an entire institution dedicated to questioning them is, of course, unacceptable."

Ezio blinked, taking in the information slowly. "What does the papacy intend?"

"Bribery. They want to prevent the academy from even being approved of. If you follow the money, you can intercept, stage a robbery of your own, and give the money to Friedrich der Weise instead. It... would get you out of the warehouse."

"... Are you trying to do me a favor?"

Machiavelli scoffed. "Of course not, I'm trying to get you to act."

Ezio's smile was wan, and he took a deep, cleansing breath. "Fetch Vecellio, Enu, and Varzi. I have an assignment for them."

Not long after the three had left, Ezio received a visit from his mother.

"Ezio," she said softly, hugging him. The pair walked out into the main part of the city, Ezio guiding his mother deftly through the crowds until they found a charming view of the river. "I have a name for you: Giulietta. She is the leader of the dissenting faction of the brothel, with her gone, things will go much more smoothly for Claudia and her girls."

The master assassin shook his head. "She has to ask for help, Mother."

"She did."

"No she didn't."

"Is her lack of communication not a message?"

"That's just her punishing me after the meeting," Ezio said, brushing it off.

"Oh, Ezio, you've still so much to learn."

"Mother..."

"Nevertheless, Giulietta is a poison in the brothel. She is diseased, both in heart and in body, and she needs to be dealt with."

"I'm surprised you are offering me a contract," Ezio said slowly.

"I don't expect you to kill her if that's what you mean," Maria said softly, looking out to the river. "But she must learn her ways are not welcome. No, there's been too much death already... I miss Giovanni..." Ezio stilled, waiting. "She is in the countryside right now, entertaining a lord. She is to meet her patron after. Do what you do best, and let Claudia do what she does best."

Still not knowing what his mother's cryptic words meant, he took a horse from Salvatore and went out. It was an hour's ride to the location his mother had given him, and soon he was up on the meager roofs, crouched low as his shadow was obvious this low to the ground. Finding the building, he lay out on his belly and waited. The courtesan Giulietta left an hour later, adjusting her corset and fixing her hair, before her client gave one last predatory grope and kiss, and she was off.

They were near the Mercati Di Traiano. Trajan's Market was built by Apollodorus of Damascus in 110, an impressive semi-circular structure that was a spectacle even in modern times, and Ezio silently watched as the courtesan made a circuitous route around the upper levels; looking over her shoulder and swiveling this way and back. She was nervous, probably acutely aware of the betrayal she was committing. Ezio contemplated very seriously about just killing her; he was in a black mood after Antonello's death, and he wondered if doing so would help any.

… He remembered the _Gonfaloniere_ of Florence, Uberto Alberti. No... it wouldn't help at all.

The master assassin took a deep breath, trying to will away the dark emotions as he kept to the roofs, hopping from one level to the next. She rounded the edge of the _mercati_ and then to a grand vista of the Colosseo, where a man stood by a well in rich finery that did not match the poverty of the area. The patron then. The two embraced, Giulietta looking relaxed and amorous while the patron, a head taller than her, rolled his eyes and looked otherwise bored. "It's good to see you, love."

"Yes," Giulietta replied, pressing her body to him suggestively. "I've lost so much sleep since last we saw each other. Only in your arms can I find comfort."

"Is it because the brothel has been taken over?"

"_Si_, by a woman who has no understanding of true love. Oh, you should see her, darling; all she does is instruct us on how to be invisible, tricks to remembering information, all so that she can send everything we learn to another. _Most_ inappropriate for a _madonna_, no?"

"Tell me more," the patron said, his eyes sharp.

Like hell. _Merda_, Ezio would not let any information of Claudia, _any_, be sold to the Borgia. He extended his hidden blade and leapt, angling his body with impressive skill so that his weight was taken only by the patron as the blade did its dirty work. Giulietta shrieked, backing away. "W-what?"

"So you would sell our secrets to whoever paid you, sell _Claudia's_ secrets," Ezio accused, taking a menacing step forward.

"I... I did not know the _bastardo_ was a traitor!" she declaimed, backing up further in response to the white shadow's advance.

"That is a lie," Ezio growled, reaching out and grabbing her arm, squeezing it hard.

"You're hurting me...!"

"You are no longer welcome in Rosa in Fiore. You will find someone else to house your filth. And you will _never_ discuss Claudia and Rosa in Fiore again."

With that he gave a brutal shove, and the whore ran away.

* * *

Soon after word came from Bartolomeo that Cesare Borgia had taken Pandolfo Malatesta of Rimini and added it to his list of conquests. The man certainly had skill, Ezio had to grudgingly admit that, but he refused to join Machiavelli's school of thought that the man would make a good assassin. Gilberto snorted when Ezio confessed this, and said it was further proof of his treachery.

Ezio was beginning to wonder just how long this farce of a Brotherhood could stick together, but when his three apprentices came back with news of success in Wittenberg, he tried to take heart that at least _some_ things were going right. He sent his apprentices to Volpe for two months of study on climbing and running, and the master assassin used the time to fill in the warehouse with furniture and materials. After eleven months of poverty, he finally had enough money to properly outfit his apprentices. He also bought tapestries to hang in order to keep the place remotely warm; now that winter was setting in the chill would be unbeara-

November.

Federica's birthday.

Cursing creatively, Ezio darted out and perused the markets before settling on a hair bonnet.

He felt more than slightly awkward standing at the door to Claudia's apartment, knowing how strained their relationship had become, but he hoped that both would agree to put aside their differences for the sake of Federica.

Claudia opened the door, gave him a cold, assessing stare, before seeing the simple gift wrapped in twine. After a beat, she opened the door more fully and stepped aside. "Please," she said softly, "Join us for dinner."

Maria and the tutor were inside, the tutor being a woman Ezio thought familiar... His eyes widened as he realized it was Lucia, the half-naked prostitute from his first visit to the brothel. Only now she was fully clothed and looking _so different_. He stared, blinking repeatedly to resolve the image of her with the one he was currently seeing. Lucia gave a glance to Ezio but nothing more, as if he were nothing to comment on. Claudia dismissed her and she bowed courteously with a polite "_Maestra,_" slipping away as if she never was.

"... Just _what_ are you teaching her, again?" Ezio asked in a rough voice, his whisper hoarse.

"What she needs to survive," Claudia replied, her voice equally as strained. "And since you're obviously not around to teach her, I'll do it as I see fit."

A whore... his niece was going to turn into...!

"I will be happy when both of you talk honestly," Maria said in a level tone, "and stop making assumptions about each other."

The tension in the air dissipated slightly, and Federica arrived in her usual exuberance, loving the hair net and immediately trying it on. "Mother, Mother, what kind of woman do I look like with this? A merchant wife, or a noblewoman?"

"You'll always be a noblewoman to me," Claudia said with a smile.

"That's no good, how am I supposed to sneak around if I look like a noblewoman all the time?"

"It's all in how you present yourself," Claudia said. "Didn't your father say it all the time: the one with the best footing wins." She bent down and kissed her daughter's face, and soon they were all sitting down for dinner.

The newly-minted twelve-year-old was of course the center of attention, but Ezio's mood grew darker and more sour as she happily shared her exploits wandering around the city, practicing the art of invisibility and wondering loudly when she would learn about how to be charming. Federica proudly boasted that she had picked four pockets just that afternoon, and then handed the money over to Claudia to "invest," and then begged to start learning daggers – at which point Ezio choked on his wine. Claudia glanced at her brother before answering, "Four more years, Federica. Once you're sixteen you'll be done growing and you can learn the dagger."

Federica nodded sagely after her perfect pout and then turned to the strangled Ezio. "And how's your work coming, _Zio_ 'zio? Have you gotten back everything we lost yet?"

Ezio coughed, grabbing a napkin and covering his mouth. His niece's eyes narrowed, becoming shrewd, and pressed the point. "Is the villa repaired yet? What about the church, or the main street? How goes finding everybody? Did you find Father or Granduncle Mario? Have the Borgia died yet?"

"Federica," Claudia said, "That's enough."

"But he's _never_ around, Mother! I want to know why he suddenly hates us! He said earlier he was trying to get everything we lost back, but that's just so _stupid_ because we can't get it back! So just _what_ is he doing that's more important than us?"

After that Maria quickly disappeared with her granddaughter to put her to bed, leaving Claudia and Ezio at the table, both mortified at what Federica had done.

"... I don't hate you," Ezio said slowly. "Please tell her that. I could never hate her or you. I'm... there are apprentices to train and plans to make. I can't go off on rampant slaughter, that isn't what Roma needs; she needs to be _ready_ for when the Borgia die, and I can't..."

"I know Ezio," Claudia said slowly, staring at her half-empty plate. "I've been watching the accounts, I know what you're planning on doing and... It's a good plan. I support it."

"Then why are you so determined to train Federica into being a-"

"_Don't say it,_" Claudia hissed.

"But Claudia..."

"No," she insisted, looking up and locking eyes with him. "Don't make assumptions, don't think you know what's going on. You don't. And until you see, you _really_ see, what I'm trying to do, I'm not going to explain it to you."

"But why-"

"You're an Assassin, aren't you?" she asked, her voice bitter and hard and envious all at once. "Figure it out."

That left him in an even darker mood than when he had arrived, and that night he was plagued with nightmares of his niece whoring with Cesare Borgia. They did not leave him, and as the dreary month of December arrived word finally reached Rome of other, darker news: King Louis of France had been thrilled with his quick victory over Milan, and had allied with Ferdinand of Aragon to take over Naples. As if Cesare's conquests were not enough, they now had a war looming on the horizon, and nobody quite knew what the pope was going to do about it.

Ezio sent yet another letter to his friend Leonardo in Milan; the painter was a scatterbrain at best and sometimes it would be months before replying, but it had been over a year, now, and Ezio was worried. The thought of Leonardo being dead...

He stretched out a canvas again, and stared at it for a long, long time.

Mario eventually filled the paper, but the act of painting him was as painful as it had been when he painted Cristina's portrait. Loss always lingered over Ezio in the winter months, and always seemed to fill him with restless energy. In his younger years he had learned the hard way to channel the energy into something, lest he work himself into such a tight spring that he do something reckless and almost get himself killed. Normally he would just charm his way into a warm bed to fend off the memories, acting like his brother the flirt, but after the death of Cristina the thought of warming a bed to make himself feel better... his stomach twisted in a dark knot, and so he put all of his energy in painting.

The work consumed him; he painted for hours on a stretch, fussing over one detail after the next, painstakingly putting Mario's beloved Monteriggioni in the background with utmost perfection of glory, Assassin flags and all, and struggling with his dead uncle's blind eye and grey temples. The sky kept changing as Ezio's memories did, from a bright dawn to a glorious sunset to a dark overcast day. His fingers were permanently stained with the oils of the paint as he scraped at areas that needed to be redone or overpaint others. Every memory he ever had of his Uncle flowed into that painting: the midnight rescue from Vieri de' Pazzi, the introduction to the Sanctuary, the painful explanation of his father's true work, the teaching, the pragmatism, the advice, the guidance. All of it poured out of Ezio, and when he finally looked up it was Christmas and the masterpiece before him drove him to tears.

For the first time since his fevered emotions after the attack on Monteriggioni, he allowed himself to grieve for his losses. He spent two days in bed, utterly depressed and thankful the apprentices were still to the south being trained by La Volpe. He spent the anniversary of his family's deaths in front of his uncle's painting, praying from the bottom of his heart to... anything that would listen.

Machiavelli found him like that, and simply stood next to him; staring at Mario's portrait, lost in his own memories.

* * *

In January the apprentices returned. Ezio spent a night with them out on the rooftops and taking them through their paces, then a full day of them sparring with each other. He was pleased with the improvement he saw. They could handle any weapon available now, if caught unawares, and could use rooftops to their advantages when on the run to break line-of-sight and then disappear into crowds. (Although they _still_ tended to stand out in the crowds, despite Volpe's best efforts.) But Ezio felt better about their skills. Some, like Vecellio, needed time to wear down their tempers, but they could now move more like Assassins.

On a whim, when they all sat together one evening, Enu started to talk to them about all the languages he knew. Varzi commented on how it had been useful when going up to Wittenberg, and Ezio commented how knowing Spanish had been a great advantage to him when he helped the Assassins in Spain fight against the Spanish Inquisition, his German helped him stay in touch with bankers and his French helped during the last war. Vecellio felt left out of the knowledge of languages and insisted that he start learning one. Ezio joked that Turkish might be the best, since it was the most unlike Italian or Latin. Enu agreed, and soon they were all learning the basics of Turkish.

After checking on the accounts with Matteo and Romeo, Ezio thought long and hard on what to invest in next. Thus far, he had a few businesses that he'd helped in order to inject some money into the economy. Ideally, he'd continue doing so until the people could start to support themselves, but it wasn't just Rome Ezio was looking after. While investing in businesses gave him a one percent tax to help keep his accounts from being completely drained, it wouldn't do much good until he had a _lot_ more people paying it. But his Assassins needed equipment and rooftops wouldn't always be a swift getaway. Machiavelli's mention of the tunnels would be ideal, but they needed to be cleared and mapped out, preferably by a mason he could trust.

It was Romeo who made the suggestion of disguising the clearing of the tunnels as a municipal improvement funded by the Borgia. Ezio would still need to map out the tunnels himself, but the tunnels would be cleared and the masons would be none the wiser.

It was perfect, and a way to train his apprentices on how to maneuver in little light. They could map out the tunnels and practice being unseen, while Ezio continued with the multitude of other things he needed to do.

One cold January day, Ezio was taking a break from his work and lunching at a tavern across the river from the warehouse. The proprietor always fed him for free after Ezio had found an out-of-work cook from the outskirts of Rome and brought him to the tavern. Listening to the buzzing lunch crowds, Ezio learned that a body had been fished out of the Tibre again, and suspicions were that it was the lord of Faenza, which Cesare was currently fighting with. Surrender would likely be soon.

_Damn_. Cesare just kept conquering.

Ezio finished his meal and left some florins, despite the proprietor's wishes, and slipped into the streets, hoping to find where the body had been fished out to see if he could get more concrete information. He breezed through the streets, nodding and offering polite greetings to any who saw him. It didn't take long to follow the conversation and rumors until he was near a small dock where the body had likely been found. The crowds had long dispersed and the Borgia guards had already taken the body away, but rumors here were the freshest with the merchants who had been there and seen the whole thing. Ezio tried to learn what he could, but he didn't really learn anything new. Bartolomeo would likely send word with confirmation.

With a sigh, Ezio started to head back to the warehouse, taking a circuitous route across to the west bank of the Tibre and around.

He was deep in the crumbling buildings and narrow alleys when he heard something completely unexpected for the heart of Italy.

"_Cochons_!" a voice bellowed. "_Bâtards_!_ Sortez de mon magasin_! _Abrutis foutus_!"

Ezio grinned. The French girls he flirted with in Florence may not have known such harsh words, but Ezio could still figure out the vulgar language being shouted out. He followed the sound to a poor smithy where the Borgia had a giant of a man somehow tied down and being flogged.

"Say that again, _coglione_, and you'll get another ten lashes!" the captain growled.

"I will say it as many times as needed," the huge man said in a thick French accent. "You are all _tres stupides_ to think I will just do whatever you _bâtards_ will say!"

"_Papa_!" a boy shouted, a skinny fifteen-year-old in a growth spurt that made him gangly.

"_Silenciez_, Jaques!" the man growled.

The captain, however, had other ideas. "As promised," he smiled, "another ten lashes. On your son here."

"_NON_!" the huge man's muscles bulged as he strained against the ropes tying him down. But he could get no leverage, and the lashes on his back oozed fresh blood down his back.

The crowd was tittering nervously. Ezio's hard work was seen in the flicker of defiance in many, but they lacked the push needed to defend themselves.

Well, it was time to show that the Borgia were not unbeatable.

Ezio stepped forward into the circle the crowd had made, calmly. The crowd hushed almost instantly, as they recognized him as a man to settle disputes. No doubt they would wonder what he was doing here and how he could have any hope of resolving a dispute with the Borgia.

The squad of guards realized something was going on and turned to see him.

"And who are you?" the captain spat.

"A concerned citizen," Ezio replied. He turned to the huge Frenchman and slipped into the foreign language. "_Un moment_ and you shall be free."

"_Merci, monsieur_. _Mais, mon fils est plus important_."

"Speak properly!" the captain ordered, stomping forward and getting into Ezio's personal space. Ezio replied the best way possible. His hidden blade sank into the man's stomach, with practiced ease of avoiding the armor. The captain gasped, his face slackening, as he backed off and clutched at his abdomen. Those around murmured, wondering what could have happened, since none had seen Ezio's blade but the huge Frenchman on the ground.

"Assa..." the guard tried to hiss. "Assasssss-" But he fell, blood gurgling from his mouth.

There was a pause and then the two guards manhandling the man's son let go to pull out their swords and surround Ezio. The gangly youth quickly went to his father, but Ezio kept the guards attention on himself as he pulled out his sturdy sword. The Sword of Altair, centuries old, but as sharp and firm and balanced as any blade Ezio ever worked with. It flowed and moved with him like an extension of his body. His shoulder still wasn't quite up to full strength, but it didn't matter as Ezio breezed around the Borgia, and easily sliced their belts, making their pants fall down to their ankles. The crowds burst into laughter, taunting and jeering. A rock flew through the air and nailed one of the Borgia on the nose, sending blood spurting down his face. An egg splattered on the other's backside and sent the crowd cheering. The Borgia were being humiliated, but they still had their swords, so Ezio stayed between them and the boy trying to free his father. Ezio chanced a backward glance to toss the boy his knife to help, and that moment of inattention had one of the Borgia trying to attack him.

Trying being the operative word.

He tripped over his downed pants, but his intent was clear. He was going to kill someone, humiliation or no. Ezio danced around him and let his hidden blade stab at the man's collar, digging deep into his heart and letting him fall flat on his face. The crowd wouldn't know he was dead yet. Which left the last guard, who was trying to pull up his pants around his egg-stained underclothes and run at the same time. The crowd followed, jeering and laughing, but Ezio stayed behind.

Turning, he helped the boy Jaques cut his father free.

"You have my thanks again, _monsieur_," he said.

"You can thank me when we get you off the streets and to a doctor," Ezio replied. "The Borgia have been pushed back, but they will not forget and come looking for you."

"_Merde_," the man growled. "And I had finally gotten settled."

"We can worry about that once you and your son are safe."

"_Bien_. Lead the way, _monsieur_."

Ezio guided them through the back alleys and away from any guards, using the crowds and their energy against the Borgia to their benefit. Along the way Ezio learned the giant man's name was Étienne, and he had been a blacksmith dragged from home almost ten years ago when the French had stomped through in their little war. He'd taken his son along claiming him as an assistant (despite being only six years old) and had deserted as soon as it was safe. "We have enough problems back home without invading others, _n'est pas_?" Unfortunately, when the French finally left, a Frenchman didn't have a great reputation, particularly with syphilis, the "French Disease" was spreading so virulently through Italy. At least in Rome, Étienne explained, there were enough foreigners that he wasn't quite so reviled.

"And can you not return to France?" Ezio asked as Dante cleaned the slashes left by the whip.

"_Non_," Étienne replied. "There is nothing there. Jaque's mother died giving him life and I was miserable there. Here it is warm and friendly. Apart from the cursed Borgia."

Ezio smiled. "And why were they flogging you?"

"They were trying to steal our shop," Jaques said quietly from his corner. "_Papa_, he has been ordered to make more weapons for Captain Cesare, but he refuses."

"_Bien sur_," Étienne growled. "I'll not help that butcher."

"_Mais, Papa_!"

"_Non_, Jaques," the blacksmith said quietly. "A man must know when to say no. I did not want to fight here, but I was unable to say no when they dragged me away. I said no by leaving. And now they try to force me again? No, I will not."

"But now we have nothing again."

Étienne sighed. "_Vrais_, but we have each other."

"And you have not lost everything," Ezio said.

Dante chuckled. "Another lost soul like myself, _Maestro_?"

Ezio only smiled.

He met with Romeo and Matteo and found a small shop on Isola Tiberina that could handle a small smithy, and luck had it that it butted against the warehouse itself. A late-night visit to the Frenchman's old shop and Ezio and his apprentices spirited away all the smithing equipment to set up at the new shop. Étienne was grateful and more than willing to pay a one percent tax. Ezio's apprentices went out and let word be known where Étienne had set up shop so some of his old customers dropped by, willing to make the longer trek for Étienne's good work. Étienne insisted he be the one to make armor and weapons for Ezio and his apprentices for all the hard work they did.

In time, with more trust built up, Ezio would show Étienne the hidden blade and start having him repair them as needed. Étienne would not be as good as Leonardo, but then, no one could be. Ezio still wondered where his old friend was, and how he was doing, but there was too much to do to go hunting down the painter. Ezio wouldn't even know when to start.

The following week, Ezio was down in the tunnels. Masons had started clearing and reinforcing and Ezio was mapping them out, leaving tiny symbols that his apprentices could follow as he found where various entrances and exits went.

One of the branches he followed, however, led somewhere very interesting indeed. He arrived in the Palazzo Laterano. Originally a Roman palace, it had been the Papal palace for centuries until two large fires had pushed the papacy to the Vatican. The building appeared to have been abandoned for the past century-and-a-half, and Ezio looked up around the open floors, small balconies, and large windows that would let in lots of light during the day.

Ezio smiled. He'd found the perfect place.

The following day he took a horse and cart and paid for a great deal of hay. It took the rest of the week to set up the various haystacks and to fully explore the apartments himself to see what was safe and what wasn't, but finally, he brought all five of his apprentices there.

Thus started their training in the leap of faith and the calculations needed to see if it was safe and from what height. It took a lot to get some of them over their timidity, but after Ezio out-and-out pushed them when they weren't ready, they started to attempt the leaps on their own. As confidence grew and Ezio critiqued methods to avoid banging weapons on the landing, the apprentices started to get more bold.

These ancient papal apartments were going to be an excellent training ground.

* * *

The following month, February was cold and rainy. Despite the weather, the streets remained packed each day as people had so many things to do in the busy city of Rome. Ezio was out with Varzi, trying to teach her the subtlety of hiding in crowds. She was decent enough, and an average passerby didn't pay any attention to the two of them, but a sharp-eyed guard always glanced twice before moving on.

"It's your hips," Ezio tried to explain. "Swaying them like that is calling more attention to yourself."

"I can't help the way I walk," she hissed, still trying to adjust her steps. "Women walk different than men."

"Yes," Ezio replied, trying to guide her hips gently from behind her, letting his half-cape hide his movements. "But you can adjust your gate to affect your hips. You don't sway like that if you're running."

Varzi grumbled some more, but kept trying.

Teaching his apprentices how to walk and hide in crowds was probably the hardest thing he tried to teach them. Paola's lessons decades prior, had been so simple for Ezio. He picked them up in a heartbeat, and when Teodora refined his movement, it didn't take much to understand what to do. He just needed practice to get into the habit. But for some reason, explaining what was so simple seemed impossible for him. He was debating strongly sending them to Claudia so that her courtesans could teach them, but that was a complicated issue he didn't feel like delving into.

"Come, let's find an alley and I can show you this again."

Varzi sighed. "Of course, _Maestro_."

They wandered to a more run-down residential section along the west bank of the Tibre and Ezio started to show Varzi the positioning of hips to shoulders and how that affected a walk. Varzi kept trying, never quite getting it right. There was something missing, but Ezio didn't know how to explain it. He was showing her walking again when Ezio suddenly tensed, his whole body shifting to bend knees and a hand going for his sword as he switched to his Eagle Vision and saw what his nose had smelled.

Blood.

A trail of blood in the shadows of the afternoon.

"_Maestro_?"

Ezio crept forward, moving aside the crate that had blocked the view of the bloody path. "Follow me on the roofs."

Varzi nodded.

After she had scrambled to the roofs, Ezio followed the blood forward as it started to rain. It was a light drizzle and Ezio eased along the trail, his senses alert. While Rome had its fair share of cutthroats, most employed by the Spaniard and his papacy, bodies were more likely to end up in the Tibre than to leave such an obvious trail. So Ezio remained cautious. The light rain did little to wash away the blood, and the afternoon still had enough light through the clouds to not need a lantern to navigate the narrow back alleys.

Two blocks over, Ezio came to a dilapidated building, missing half of the roof and an entire wall open, and inside were the sounds of crying. He didn't even glance as he heard Varzi drop down beside him. A silent gesture and she slid to a broken down wall and crouched, ears listening.

Ezio's approach was deliberately noisier. The crying inside subsided and Ezio held his hands up, showing he wasn't bearing weapons.

"I mean no harm. I only wish to know what has happened here?"

"None of your concern," a woman sobbed.

Ezio stepped in, his hands still raised. "I only wish to help."

"Hah!" the woman hiccuped. "No one ever helps the whores."

In the shadows, a courtesan dressed in the blues of a brothel from the outskirts of central Rome, instead of the reds Claudia had her girls wear, was holding the corpse of another courtesan. The dead girl was aged, make up having run in the rain and hair needed dying at the temples, but she was still pretty. Yet her throat was opened from ear to ear as she stared lifelessly at the half-ceiling.

Ezio slowly stepped forward and crouched down. The woman was still trying to stifle her sobs, rubbing at her eyes and smearing the charcoal makeup that was there. Reaching over, Ezio closed the eyes of the dead courtesan. "_Requiescat in pace_," he whispered. The woman sobbed harder.

"Mina," she cried. "I told you not to come here..."

"Who did this?"

Real anger sparked in the courtesan's eyes. "That monster! Malfatto!"

"You saw him?"

"I was coming to get Mina and bring her back to the Madonna," she said. "That _bastardo_. He'll kill any courtesan he finds."

"He cannot appreciate that you are human," Ezio said quietly. "Far too many feel that a courtesan is a commodity."

"And that Spaniard Pope saying slavery is good doesn't help," the courtesan half-growled half-sobbed. "Mina..."

"Where can I find this Malfatto?"

The courtesan looked to Ezio at last and her eyes widened. "You're..."

Ezio simply looked at her.

The courtesan bowed her head. "_Maestro_," she said quietly. "All courtesans of Roma know you will defend us, whether we work for the Rosa in Fiore or not. Malfatto works as a doctor by trade with a beaked mask that is shorter than most." She continued to describe him with crisp details of an observer that had Ezio easily form a picture in his mind.

"If you need refuge," he said, "you may always find it at the Rosa in Fiore."

"You have my thanks, _Maestro_," she said. "But our _Madonna_ has always taken care of us, even when we don't make the same florins as the Rosa in Fiore."

Ezio only nodded. "Do you need help with Mina?"

"You are about to do enough, _Maestro_," the courtesan replied. "We will see to our own dead."

"Of course."

Ezio stood and pulled off his half-cape, draping it carefully over the corpse and covering her face.

The courtesan gave another sob, but nodded her thanks.

Ezio went back to the street and nodded to Varzi. She scrambled up to the roofs and Ezio focused on who he needed to find and switched to his Eagle Vision.

The traces of gold were faint, but Ezio trusted them as he followed the darkening alleys and streets, and the sense of Varzi on the roofs above was reassuring.

Ezio shuddered in the rain, but kept moving, looking like he knew where he was going. Every pause to tell what direction he was going an artfully subtle appearance of checking the weather, or pockets, or something. The trail led to more crowded streets and it was harder to follow, but Ezio kept following what he could, his senses trained for any hint of gold.

At the end of the street, at a doctor's stand, Ezio immediately spotted Malfatto, every detail as described by the courtesan. But the crowds around him were too sparse. He couldn't get there without being easily spotted by the killing doctor. Ezio glanced around, and saw Varzi on the roofs above. She had noticed his stillness and he raised his hand in the air and made a fist.

"_Requiescat in pace_," he whispered.

There was a moment of silence and then Varzi leapt and descended, weight giving the heft needed for her hidden blade to penetrate the thick waxed clothing of the doctor. Her strike was slightly off, but no less deadly, and Ezio nodded at her skill. Around him people screamed, running away from the sudden slaughter. But Varzi stood tall, her shoulders back and her hood down. "None treat women like objects!" she shouted. "_None_ treat women like trash! And _none_ take away our ability to fight back!"

Ezio blinked, something about that last sentence crawling through his brain and nestling deep for something he wasn't aware of. But he couldn't spare the thought of it for now. Instead, he blended into the crowd and observed how Varzi did with escape.

* * *

He blinked, shocked at where he was. Monteriggioni? But he'd left there! Mario's ear flying, Ulderico's shouts behind a locked door. But this was wrong. It looked like some sort of ruin abandoned by time. Centuries of dirt caked on surfaces like the ancient buildings of Roma.

But there was strange items surrounding him as well. Box like, but made of materials he'd never seen before. Strange thick ropes connecting the oddities, and unknown people surrounding him. Where was the polished marble? What had happened? Who were these people and how had they brought him here?

"_Chi siete_?" he demanded. He tried to get up quickly, but found himself disoriented and wobbly, to his shock, so he stayed seated. "_Come mi avete portato qui_?" And most importantly, where was his hidden blade?!

"Desmond? Are you okay?" asked a blo_nd Luc_y stepping forward.

She didn't speak in Italian. Or Latin. Or Spanish, or German, or even Turkish that he was just starting to learn from Enu. But he still understood her. And Desmond? That spirit? He looked around, but saw no one else. Instinctively, he knew these people weren't the ghost Desmond because...

Because...

"Yeah," Desmond replied, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. "Disoriented... What happened?"

"European power grid," Rebecca growled. "Some countries and regions are ancient, some are updating, some already have, it's a convoluted mess!" She let out a long sigh. "No telling how long we'll be out."

Desmond shrugged.

Shaun, however, was less than pleased at the inconvenience. "No telling? No telling? What if we're out for days? How will we survive?"

"What," Desmond mocked lightly, "you've never been camping? Let me guess, England is too civilized for camping."

Shaun scowled horribly.

"Enough," Lucy interceded. "Look, we still have daylight, let's get some things done while waiting for the power to get back on."

They split up as Lucy delegated tasks to do some basic clean up. Desmond, the most agile of the bunch by far, went about restocking their clean water from the reservoir. Shaun and Rebecca did some basic cleaning of pots, pans, and clothes, while Lucy started inventorying their supplies. The next food run was also going to be a garbage dump. As much as they recycled what they could, after all their time, they'd accumulated some junk.

All this took two hours and still the power hadn't returned.

"Really, no power after two _hours_? I _told_ you Europe's a third world country!" Shaun wasn't too happy.

Ignoring him, Rebecca looked up to the grating for a moment. "Well," she said, "guess this is a good time to redesign Baby. Wanna help, Lucy?"

The blond looked intrigued. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"

Rebecca gave a mischievous smile. "Shrinking. The recliner has been the support for most of the processing power, but I was thinking about rebuilding some motherboards..."

Lucy's face brightened, "... to increase processing without the extra hardware. But the amount of memory needed..."

The discussion dissolved to technobabble that Desmond tuned out. If he had the rest of the day off, he was going to practice his free-running and keep building up muscles and muscle memory. He had a better sense of the reservoir area now. Maybe he could find some stabler areas to practice.

"Seriously," Shaun grumbled loudly, "are we animals? That's what we are without power, a bunch of apes."

Given how Ezio and Altair had lived without electricity, Desmond didn't care for the comment. But he didn't rise to the confrontation and left Shaun to bemoan his lack of creature comforts.

The mining tunnels were something of a refuge for Desmond. Ezio had never traveled them, so he wasn't plagued with ghosts of ancestors past and he could just be himself. The abrupt shut down of the Animus without even the white loading room for Desmond to readjust to being _Desmond_ had been jarring to the extreme. He'd thought he was Ezio initially. And that was truly scary. If he couldn't keep track of who he was, was he that much closer to using his blood as paint? To become like Subject Sixteen?

Desmond frowned. He didn't even know Sixteen's name. That was wrong on so many levels. Sixteen, who had lost so much to try and tell them what he could, starting with the Truth to whatever puzzle they were currently solving, he deserved better than a number. Not even Lucy knew his name, or it hurt too much for her to say. There was no denying that making a person a number was distancing and dehumanizing. Given how much Lucy had to have done while under cover, Desmond couldn't deny her the ability to compartmentalize however she could.

He fleetingly wondered if he was Subject Seventeen to her so that she could survive this or if he was simply Desmond.

Shaking his head, he went back to exploring the tunnels.

When he got back, several hours later, they still had no power. Shaun's complaints were bordering on a full whine, and Lucy and Rebecca were huddled over paper, still in design mode.

"Can't I just get a _little_ credit?" Shaun was saying. "I _did_ suggest this, after all."

"What's up?" Desmond asked.

Shaun turned his horrible scowl to grouse at Desmond. "I suggested a new Animus that doesn't involve you and me lugging it in and out of the van, dragging it down ramps over stairs, yanking it over cords, you know, little things like that? But do I get any credit?" Shaun's scowl deepened. "Of course not. Don't give an ounce of gratitude to the brains who suggested everything. Why bother? It's not like I matter worth a damn, do I?"

That was too good an opening.

"When you whine like a baby like now?" Desmond smiled. "No, I don't think you're worth a damn," Desmond lightly teased.

Shaun was incomprehensible after that.

Rebecca looked up with a smile so light and innocent it could douse the sun. If her eyes weren't laughing up a storm. "I'm sorry, Shaun, did you say something?"

The historian's incomprehensible utterings increased.

Laughing, Desmond decided to take pity on Shaun and went to the butane stove to make a cup of tea. Irish tea, to be safe. As the water boiled, he set up candles around the Sanctuary with the ease from centuries past and set them in groups and heights to give enough light without being in the way. Evening was approaching after all.

Shaun had apparently decided to fill the dark hours with reading his ancient books he'd brought with him. His cork board, already filled with Ezio's contemporaries, was now overflowing, and he'd converted a stack of storage bins to another wall devoted to the clues of Abstergo that Subject Sixteen was leaving. Desmond studied it a moment before getting back to what he was doing. He really didn't want to think about how long the Templars had been planning things.

Instead, he started cooking. He had enough materials to cook a simple meal. One that Ezio knew from centuries past when he'd learned how to cook on those days the cook had the day off at Monteriggioni or when he'd been pinching florins at Rome with almost no funds.

The delectable smells soon drew the others. As did the fading light.

"Mmmm, smells good," Lucy smiled. "I don't know why I keep forgetting you can cook."

Desmond shrugged. "Best way to stay low profile is to cook yourself. Don't go to fast-food joints where you can get caught on camera or restaurants where waiters will get to know you. Same for delivery. From there you just have to go to different markets every week."

Lucy dug into her food, stress seemingly forgotten after a day with Rebecca in design work instead of researching Abstergo.

"Never did learn how to cook," Rebecca said, sitting down. "Just wasn't my thing. Even in college, it was just going to the local places or the college dining hall."

Shaun just grunted as he sat down with them, nose still in a book.

Desmond just smiled and fell back onto his bartending experience and started light-hearted conversation to get them all talking. He started with harmless topics like summer pastimes, hobbies, and eased into lost loves, poking fun at Shaun and Kitty-Kat-Kate. Rebecca finally shared a bit more about the old programmer she'd been with, and then Rebecca asked Lucy about a boy from high school named Josh who had caught her eye.

Lucy sputtered, and they all laughed. Naturally, they tried to poke Desmond about his love live, but his was sadly blank, as he spent most of his time staying under the radar. Though he did mention a girl he'd had a _very_ brief fling with in another city.

Talking about love invariably led to complaining about things that went wrong, and how things fell apart in prior relationships, and complaining about aspects of life in general. Particularly bosses. Lucy, with some poking, finally opened up a bit and ranted for a good ten minutes on just how exacting Warren Vidic, her Abstergo boss had been, how committed to detail and science and goals, above all else, especially human life.

That lead to a healthy round of bitching about Abstergo and theorizing what they were after and what they were doing. Specifically the how. It was clear at this point what the Templars were after (world domination) and what they were doing (launching a Piece of Eden to the sky to broadcast illusions across the world), but the _how_ and the theorizing made for an interesting thought experiment. This brought up the pieces of whatever Sixteen was trying to give, scattered as they were, and what they could mean.

So, after weaving the conversation to the point Desmond wanted, he finally asked, "Do we know what Subject Sixteen's name was?"

"No," Rebecca said sadly. "I know he was recruited, and sent in, but I wasn't ever told his name."

Lucy looked away, sorrow etched on her features. "I... was brought to his case after he was already starting to break down," she said softly. "Vidic only referred to him as Sixteen. And Sixteen was too scattered to tell me his real name. He introduced himself as Mary, Claude, Elizabeta, Clay, Desiree, Lance, the list goes on and on."

"Disassociation to the extreme," Shaun murmured. "Terrible way to go."

Desmond nodded to himself. Time to steer the conversation back to lighter topics. At least the power was back on the following morning.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Whew did you see how much time we just covered? We went from March 1500 to Feb 1501. And that's the SMALL time skip.

... When we're novelizing the games we do several things to maintain authenticity of a game. We'll have the game open and playing, so we can scout out locations or detail different objective or list what we don't like about a sequence. We take the in game dialogue from Assassin's Wiki and paste it in to either expand or contract as needs be. We also use youtube videos if none of those things are handy.

And so, when writing out the Malfatto scene, we found one youtube video that had commentary on it. Two guys were talking about how it was time to "go help the whores," that "this whore's already dead," "There's an extra hole," and, most damningly:

"Dibs on that hole," said with gleeful amusement.

Perhaps it is irony that, after five hundred years, after suffragettes got the vote in 1920, after the women's movement of the 60s, there are... people... out there who have not noticed the great strides out there in the struggle for equality. Maria wasn't kidding when she told Ezio that women have very limited destinies in Renaissance Italy, and however much we _hate_ Bartolomeo's language, we use very ugly phrases like "splitting vaginas" because - not only was it in Bartolomeo's character to curse vociferously - but also that it was believed that women were the weaker sex and could do nothing in the "real world," the "men's world." Hell, on a meta level we're talking about a video game where all of Ezios major female interactions are either courtesans (whores) or women he slept with. Think about it: Cristina, Claudia, Paola, Teodora, Caterina, _Lucrezia, _and even to a softer extent Sofia, fit into those two categories. Maria, his mother, is the only woman that doesn't fit those two categories, is mute for over ten years because, presumably, the writers didn't know what to do with her. It's why we bent over backwards whenever Claudia (and to a smaller extent Federica) shows up on screen to make the message clear.

Women have to go through a heck of a lot more crap to get their work recognized, let alone given credit. This is especially true in recent days with certain political policies that are being enacted - by MEN, no less. Women are considered little more the just sex objects by many men - we speak from experience on this because, in college, we were in a male dominated major and subject to watching powerpoint presentations that showed naked woman to give the audience a breather, or told the joke: "What's the one thing Bill Gates doesn't have? A mistress!" and have the class roar uproariously. Hell, just look at that New York guy, Wiener, and try to justify his treating those women as people and not sex objects.

Over the course of writing this fic, we sometimes found that Claudia's voice often ran away with us when she and Ezio started talking about this, and even when she wasn't there, Varzi or Federica or someone else would step up to drive the point home. Ezio's education is, in many respects, a modern man's education on how to see how women are treated and to understand that is ISN'T okay to just casually say or do stuff like that. However political the two of us are, we try very hard to keep those opinions out of our writing because, as we were told when we were kids, "Never talk religion or politics. It always ends up in a fight." But there comes a point where simple right and wrong transcends politics, and we sort of hope that we tread this line just right. The last thing we want is to sound preachy in a fic that is supposed to be entertaining (we did that once. It's called Team Time).

But enough about that. Other stuff happened in this chapter, didn't it? We lost Antonello and started a new tradition, Machiavelli showed that he does care in his own way, Volpe gave Ezio permission to call him Gilberto (and we have been _waiting_ for that!), some of the side missions are done, and Malfatto is, at last, dead. Squee!

And oh yeah, Desmond showed up! We told you he was going crazy!

Next chapter: Caterina Sforza. Speaking of women...


	7. Damsels in Distress

**Part Seven: Damsels in Distress**

The following day, Claudia came to the warehouse, a perplexed look on her face.

"Ezio."

"Claudia."

She sighed. "A _madonna_ came to see me this morning. She said that she had a gift to give to the man who protects courtesans."

Ezio blinked. "I was not expecting one."

Claudia scowled. She took a breath to say something, but thought better of it and instead growled, "I'll deposit it with Matteo at the end of the week. It's surprisingly substantial."

Ezio shook his head. "Use it as you see fit. I didn't ask for payment."

Claudia shook her head. "Asked for or not, you earned it."

The money helped, and Ezio used it to pay for Etienne's bill to Dante, not that Dante wanted money when he was used to helping people for free when he could. The leftover money went to Etienne as a down payment on getting some new armor for both himself and his apprentices. Ezio had been making do with leather armor for a year now, and he much preferred some sort of metal armor, particularly if he was going to storm the Papal fortress to rescue Caterina once his shoulder had more strength.

Of which, Ezio was getting irritated with how long it was taking to get strength back in his shoulder. It was better, certainly, but his right arm was still stronger than his left and the lack of flexibility was taking even longer to get back.

Still, he kept working on it. He was out with Vecellio, near the Ponte Emilio up on the roofs where he could watch Vecellio and the apprentice's attempts to blend into the crowds. Vecellio was the best of the apprentices, but guards still tended to take a second look before Vecellio could successfully hide his presence.

How was Ezio going to teach them to hide?

Standing, Ezio stretched, popping his back and looked out across the gray February day. They had been working near the Tiber, the river providing a quick get-away if Vecellio was noticed. Ezio had not had a chance to walk with the citizens of Rome for almost a week, as he worked with each apprentice individually to try and help them blend more easily in crowds. The rest were in charge of the hideout and helping others, and there was a Borgia tower near Volpe's inn that they were planning on taking down and looting.

So many things to do. Ezio saw a hay cart and leapt with decades of practice, nestling into the sweet scents. After a moment he got out, trailing bits of hay and came to Vecellio. "Let's head back," he said. "Follow my lead and watch how my hips and feet work. Perhaps that will help."

"_Maestro_," Vecellio bowed.

It was almost an hour walk back, and Ezio stopped by Salvatore to see if there was anything he could do. The Florentine Assassin was planning to visit Volpe about the Borgia tower at the end of the week, and doing some favors would likely make a horse available when he needed it.

At the stables, Ezio was pleased to see the small improvements that Salvatore had done, and it was clear he was starting to pick up in business as well. He had stable boys and some horsemen who were good at training any new foals that came in. The stalls were all clean and well cared for, and the horses, though still looking a little worn, were clearly better rested than when Ezio had first started coming by.

"Salvatore!" he called. "Is there anything I can help you with?" Vecellio stayed near the entrance, a little horse-shy. "Salvatore?"

"_Maestro_!" the stable master shouted, running forward. "_Maestro_, I've been looking for you all morning!"

"What is wrong?" Ezio stepped forward, alarmed that Salvatore was so upset.

"My nephew! Oh _Maestro_, my _nipote_!"

Ezio froze, a very different voice saying _nipote_ ringing in his ear with visions of skull and ear flying in a spray of blood. _Zio Mario..._ But Ezio shook that aside.

"What happened?"

"His mother," Salvatore explained. "She was just taken this morning... Arrested to be sold as a slave! They said they'd take him too!"

Ezio's lips thinned. "Where are they?"

"I don't know. My dear _nipote_ and his mother lived near the Ponte Emilio."

Ezio nodded and put a hand on Salvatore's shoulder. "Your nephew, is he safe?"

Salvatore gave a wan smile. "He's hiding in the loft."

"You tell him his mother is coming home and that he's done well to be so brave."

"_Si, Maestro_."

Ezio turned and swiftly left the stables, Vecellio on his heels. Ezio explained the situation and Vecellio nodded, heading up to the roofs. This was not the time for his apprentices to practice stealth. This was time for work.

The Ponte Emilio connected the Trastevere, the west bank, to the rest of Roma; built in the second century before Christ, it had evolved from a wooden bridge to an arched stone construction with several piers and mooring poles. Ezio saw the slaver easily in the crowds. He was a hunched, sour-looking man, with fur covering his shoulders in the chilly weather, and a missing arm replaced with a metal contraption that just made him look nasty. Ezio didn't even bother to check his Eagle Vision to see that this was who he was looking for.

The slaver had two guards with him who had a young man of barely seventeen between them, bony and in rags like many of those in Rome. They were making their way across the bridge and Ezio started to tail them. It was a long walk, the two guards poking the scrawny youth and the slaver growling and hissing his displeasure. Along the way, it was clear that the slaver was sensitive of his missing arm, glaring and picking a fight with any who stared at his metal replacement for too long.

Almost an hour later, with the slaver's constant belligerent attitude slowing them down, they arrived at the Colle Palatino, the most central of the hills of Rome, and the most ancient. Its many alcoves were barred with people in rags behind lock and key.

This wouldn't do.

Ezio motioned to Vecellio, and the apprentice nodded, staying by Ezio's side as he slipped into the shadows.

"We must ensure the kidnappings continue," the slaver's voice was as harsh and gruff as his countenance.

The woman he was addressing cringed. "But children, Silvestro?"

"To secure his reign, Cesare needs to control the populace. Fear keeps them quiet."

To that, Ezio smiled. The people may be scared, but Salvatore had no problem seeking help. Cesare's hold was starting to weaken.

The woman shuddered. "I can hardly look at you."

"Please, Valeria. Soon this will be all behind us," the slaver said softly, though his voice still wanted to make babies scream.

"Are you afraid of him? Cesare?" the woman asked, glancing at his missing arm.

"I am afraid of no one," the slaver said coldly.

"Did he do that to your hand?" The woman's eyes widened. "My apologies. That was not my place to ask."

The slaver turned. "Go."

"I am sorry." The woman hurried away, looking sadly at all the people in the barred alcoves.

The slaver grumbled to his guards. "Kill her. No, I'll kill her myself. How _dare_ she speak of my hand? _Puttana_, she has never served a higher cause."

Ezio had been studying the placements of the guards. There were a half dozen, including the two who had thrown the skinny boy into one of the alcoves before locking it up. Not ideal odds, though Ezio could handle it easily. Instead, he turned to Vecellio and handed him a smoke bomb. "Handle the guards."

Vecellio recognized it as the test it was and nodded.

The apprentice studied the layout for a moment before leaping forward, his hidden blade digging deep into the slaver's back. The guards quickly surrounded Vecellio, but he dropped a smoke bomb and started stabbing while Ezio went to the alcoves and started breaking open the cells, letting the slaves eagerly run to safety. Ezio didn't know which was the mother of Salvatore's nephew, but soon Vecellio was helping him as all the guards were dead. Some of the slaves looted the guards, but most just took off running for safety.

When the last alcove was free, Ezio turned to his apprentice.

"Time to head back."

When they returned to Tiber, Vecellio headed back to the hideout, worn out after a whole day about town including an extended battle, and Ezio headed to the stables.

"_Maestro_," Salvatore was smiling. "My dear _nipote_'s mother has returned. You have my thanks yet again."

A small boy came forward, ten years old with short hair. "You saved my mama," he said, hiding behind his uncle.

Ezio crouched down and smiled. "Only because of your bravery."

The boy looked down. "I ran like a coward," he said softly. "Those men were scary."

"They are scary," Ezio nodded. "But you bravely went to your uncle and got help. And only a brave person would be willing to ask for help."

The boy gave a shy smile, still hiding behind his uncle. "Thank you, _Maestro_."

Ezio nodded and reached out to ruffle the short hair. "You must keep an eye on your mother now."

"I will!"

Standing Ezio saw Salvatore smiling. "And you look after your _nipote_."

"I always do."

* * *

A few days later, Ezio was still smiling over Salvatore and his nephew, remembering his own relationship with Mario, and the sharp pain he had felt for the past year when thinking of his uncle, while still there, was not so hurtful. It also reminded him that he was an uncle and not doing a very good job of it.

So he went to visit Maria and Federica.

Maria was resting when Ezio arrived, and Lucia, fully clothed again, was with Federica, reviewing lessons on the politics of the Borgia court. Ezio hovered in the entryway, not wishing to interrupt.

"But this is _boring_!" Federica complained.

"Boring or not," Lucia softly replied, "It is necessary. If you wish to understand what your mother is doing, you must understand how the flow of power works." And Lucia started to explain the complicated dealings of the Borgia family and how they came to power.

Ezio couldn't help but wonder. Why teach Federica how the world worked if they were training her to be a courtesan? Granted, Ezio doubted that Claudia would start raising his niece to be a whore, but by surrounding her with courtesans as teachers, what else could she be doing? But there was something else to these lessons. Lucia wasn't teaching Federica how to bed a better client or spot a better paying lover. She was explaining how the Papacy worked, why it had the power it did, and how other countries tried to capitalize on that power. Lucia was even explaining the New World to the west that Corombo had discovered and why the Pope was allowing slavery and how countries were racing to get more power in those new lands.

Just what was Claudia trying to do?

Still, he was here to visit his niece, so he cleared his throat.

Federica was completely surprised, turning and dropping her jaw. "_Zio_ 'zio?" she whispered once she could form coherent thought.

Ezio smiled. "Federica," he greeted.

His niece ran up to him and hugged him tightly, laughing and giggling in joy. Ezio gratefully hugged her back, kissing the top of her head. Then Federica seemed to remember she was mad at him, and pulled away.

"Oh, so now you visit? Did you need something?" she said haughtily.

Ezio worked hard not to chuckle at his pint-sized niece trying to emulate her mother's stubbornness. "I was merely in the area and thought I'd see how my favorite niece was doing."

"You mean your only niece."

"And still the best niece in the whole world."

Federica was fighting not to smile.

"Now," Ezio said, glancing to Lucia, "I heard you were trying to learn how the Borgia came to power?"

Federica scoffed. "He bought it. No surprise," she replied shortly. "That's all he does is buy things. The rest doesn't matter."

"Ah, but why?" Ezio asked.

That brought her up short.

So Ezio pulled Federica back to Lucia, sat down, and started his tale of how the Borgia came to power, the Spaniard's deceits, betrayals, and plots, from the _Gonfaloniere_ of Florence to the _Doge_ of Venice, from the Pazzi to the Barbarigo, and the mysterious Prophet that Rodrigo believed himself to be. With Federica now an enthralled audience, Ezio spun the tales of his confrontations with the Spaniard, the strange Prophecy that Mario had been researching and his battle with Rodrigo, fist to fist, on the eve of a new year and the mysteries he'd found below.

Ezio leaned back as he finished, letting the silence settle comfortably around him before giving an enigmatic smile to his niece. "If that is what the Pope is hiding, what might the other leaders of countries be hiding?"

Lucia gave a sly smile. "Indeed. By knowing their motivations, what they seek and how they've done things before, we can predict what they will do."

Realizing that she'd just gotten a lesson, Federica pouted. "Oh alright! I'll keep studying and stop complaining!"

Ezio doubted she'd stop complaining, but by the twinkle in her eye, she was clearly interested in learning what secrets others were hiding.

Maria stepped out, looking tired. "Ah, Ezio," she said, still sounding half asleep. "Playing with Petruccio I see?"

"_Nonna_," Federica stood and sighed the sigh of one who dealt with this often. "I'm Federica."

Maria blinked, yawned, and looked again. "Of course you are, Federica," she said smiling. "I see '_Zio_ 'zio' is here? Has he been a good uncle?"

Federica looked at Ezio, sizing him up as only a twelve-year-old could. "He's improving."

Ezio chuckled.

"Come on, _Nonna_, let's get you something to eat."

With his niece leading his mother to the kitchen, Ezio frowned, and turned to Lucia.

"Has she been getting worse?"

Lucia shook her head. "Only when she's just woken up, or severely stressed," she replied quietly. "The _Maestra_ has been doing everything she can to make her comfortable."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Lucia shook her head again. "We are doing the best we can with your mother. She is someone we all look up to." The courtesan turned. "But I would speak to you of something else. You banished Giulietta from the brothel, but she fled to a Spanish ambassador. Her lover has been protecting her, but she's been sharing secrets with him. And he has been selling them to the Pope."

Ezio frowned. "I'll take care of it."

"Good." Then the courtesan offered a sly smile. "You'll be staying for lunch, yes?"

How could he refuse that?

Lunch reminded Ezio of when Federica was younger and worshiped his every move, though the almost-teenage sarcasm was still thick. He didn't particularly care since it was better than the cold shoulder she'd been attempting to give him.

After lunch he bid his farewells and headed deep into central Rome, close to the Vatican and amongst the rich apartments of diplomats. He spoke to some of the citizens and guards in Spanish, attempting to find where the Spanish diplomats would be staying and getting halted directions in broken Spanish in return. Once he found the building, it was easy to talk his way in in Spanish, leaving all his weapons save his hidden blade at the door. He was taken to a small room and told to wait as the ambassador was... engaged. That was all Ezio needed. He slipped from the room and easily maneuvered his way through the apartment, following his ears to the grunts, moans and gasps issuing from one of the back bedrooms. He silently crept along the halls until he was at a servant's door that was partially ajar. No doubt some of the staff liked watching a courtesan in action.

And since the staff liked peeking, the door was well oiled an didn't even squeak as Ezio slipped into the room. Giulietta was on all fours, her face and body completely flushed as her ample breasts swayed back and forth as the ambassador kneeling behind her kept pounding into her, his grunts getting more guttural. The two were so involved in their fornicating that even if Ezio had made a sound they wouldn't have heard him.

Giulietta let out a scream of the man's name, and the man merely grunted. Then he gasped as Ezio's hidden blade slid easily between his ribs, through the lung, and into his heart. The ambassador was rigid for a moment, before falling back. Giulietta was clearly still in her orgasm, as she let out a needy whimper. When the ambassador didn't respond, she turned her head and gasped, scrambling back and trying to cover herself with the sheets.

"Ezio, please! I can explain!" He didn't give her a chance as he placed his hidden blade right against her throat. "Please," she begged, her courtesan training kicking in as she dropped the sheets and started heaving her large breasts, "I had no choice."

Ezio pushed the blade closer to her throat. "Leave Roma," he said firmly. "I never want to see you here again. The next time you are," he pushed the blade again, "there will be consequences."

He flipped the sheet over her face, which gave him a chance to escape before she could react. He returned to the room he'd been told to wait in and then found his way back out, collecting his weapons from the guards at the door and chatting briefly in Spanish. He was down the street and ducking into an alley when the alarm of what had happened had finally been raised.

* * *

April finally brought some warm weather and sunny skies, and Ezio started to take his apprentices down into the tunnels and show them the marks he made to help make for a quick getaway and where to find lanterns. He had them race each other from one point of the city to another, one above ground and another in the tunnels, to show how useful they could be as long as they avoided the masons who were still clearing out the underground pathways without realizing why.

In the middle of the month, Ezio made his usual monthly visit to La Volpe, and he brought Enu with him, as each apprentice needed to learn how to work with the underground for any missions they were on their own. Enu, who was a very quiet individual, could learn from Gilberto's more open mysteriousness and Ezio hoped that it would be an enlightening evening. A battle of wits with the Fox was always entertaining, as well as seeing who could out-cheat the other in a game. Hopefully Enu would get a friend amongst the thieves that he could use as a contact.

"Ah, Ezio," Gilberto greeted once they entered the inn. "Come, you and your apprentice are needed in a meeting."

"Oh?" Ezio raised a brow as they walked to the back room and then upstairs to where the thief clan ran their business. In a corner was a pair of thieves going over a plan of some kind, sketches being made on a slate, but normally there were more about when Ezio came up with his old friend. "Gilberto, what is the problem?"

"Two, but one more immediate than the other," the old thief said, sitting at a table. "The Followers of Romulus have been getting more active near the Colosseo. But that is secondary to the main issue. The Cento Occhi."

Ezio sat, Enu taking position behind him. "What are they doing now?"

Gilberto gave a fox grin. "They've challenged my little band to a brawl. Tonight at midnight."

Ezio gave his own smile. "And here I have arrived."

"And you see why I'm glad you came to this meeting."

"And to your benefit, I have an apprentice with me."

The fox grin grew. "They will not be expecting you. Either of you."

Ezio gave his own smile. "So how many are you expecting?"

Planning went through a small supper and into the night, estimating how many would be there and what sort of underhanded tactics to expect from the Cento Occhi. Ezio made sure to have Enu put forth ideas and question him on expectations until Enu finally gave in and asked Volpe for information, which Ezio praised.

Two hours before midnight, Ezio, Enu and the thieves slipped into the darkness to reach the ruins where the brawl was to occur. Ezio and Enu stayed in the shadows, hidden reserves. They kept their weapons sheathed, as it would depend on the Cento Occhi if the two Assassins would come in with weapons drawn or not.

The moon was bright and the stars twinkled, and Ezio could hear the rival gang approach before he saw them and gave a small whistle to let Volpe's men know.

"How do you know, _Maestro?_" Enu asked almost silently.

Ezio only smiled.

The Cento Occhi outnumbered Volpe's men almost two-to-one, but they all arrived unarmed, as promised. Insults were traded back and forth for a few minutes before the brawl started. With everyone engaged, Ezio and Enu burst from the shadowed ruins and laid into the Cento Occhi. While all the thieves were good in a scrap, they were better at escape, and Ezio and Enu, both trained warriors, outclassed the thieves in a fight.

The fight was brief and brutal, with Ezio and Enu taking down half of them easily. The Cento Occhi soon lay at their feet, moaning over broken arms, legs, ribs, collarbones, and at least one cracked skull. Volpe's men quickly looted them for anything useful, including quite a few hidden knives that they didn't get to draw with Ezio and Enu breezing through them so easily.

"Our thanks, _Maestro_," one of the thieves said, handing Enu some of the money that had been looted. "The Cento Occhi will never beat us at this rate."

"Just make sure the populace knows the difference," Ezio said.

"We will. And," the thief smiled. "What do you and your apprentice say to a race back to your hideout?"

Ezio turned to Enu and the quiet apprentice was grinning. "Do you think winner should get these winnings?" he said, lifting the small pouch of money that the thieves had given to him.

The race was on.

Ezio won, though he would have been surprised if they had beaten him, since he had stayed behind the group, found a tunnel, and used it to avoid climbing roofs and dodging late-night patrols. He was calmly waiting for both Enu and the thieves on the bridge when they arrived, and he offered them all a bottle of wine.

Enu wasn't spared much time to rest, however, as the next day was when the apprentices planned to attack the Borgia tower closest to Volpe's inn. It would also hopefully break some of the Cento Occhi's hold on the southern impoverished areas of Rome. Ezio stayed apart, watching them plan, and observing when they finally attacked. It was well planned, but none had expected the captain to be a coward, running at the first sign of trouble. Thankfully Enu's good grasp of the bow led to the captain falling, but it was a near thing and cost them valuable time. Still, the tower was set aflame and the apprentices were able to escape.

Volpe would handle the rest.

The weather continued to warm as May rolled in. Volpe reported that the Cento Occhi were in disarray after the brawl, making it easier for his thieves to explain to the citizens the differences between the two gangs working the city. But the Followers of Romulus still had a stranglehold on the countryside. Not liking this, Ezio started his apprentices with patrolling the hills to help where they could. Having more Assassins would be better, as Ezio could make a small stronghold in the hills that wouldn't need to travel so far, but he only had five who were readily available with him. Machiavelli was too busy in the Papal courts and diplomacy to be able to do this kind of work, and he wasn't the sort to see the benefit either.

One day, Ezio dropped by Bartolomeo's barracks. There he learned that Cesare was just named duke of Romagna and was gearing up to siege Piombino. This soured Ezio's mood, but Pantasilea offered an interesting bit of news while corralling her children.

"The Followers of Romulus have been seen a great deal by Il Colosseo. Given their more random attacks, it was strange to see anything centralized."

Ezio agreed, and with his apprentices roaming the hills, he went straight to the ancient building.

The Colosseo was massive, and Ezio always marveled at the size, wondering how the ancient Romans could build such a structure that could last for so long. It had been used for a theatre, parties, functions of all sorts, for as far back as anyone can remember, and that night was no different. There was a play going on out under the moonlight, and people were moving to the lower levels for some sort of masquerade.

Ezio lowered his hood and followed, entering the depths of the Colosseo and marveling again at all the rooms. There were cages that seemed to hold animals at one time, and new wooden ramps to get from one area to another. It was practically a maze, and Ezio got turned around from time to time, just exploring and realizing that this would make a perfect place to offer more training for his apprentices. Just using the old Papal apartments was not a good idea. It was better to have a variety, and if he could find a secluded enough part of the Colosseo, this would make an ideal playground.

As he explored an abandoned floor that held ancient cages of some sort, Ezio heard a howl in the distance. A howl he associated with the Followers of Romulus. Ezio quickly went toward the sound, listening as voices started to talk as he ghosted down a stairway.

In another small room were three wolf-clad men, hunched like animals, listening to a fourth man who was putting on dark robes and a mask.

"Those farmers haven't given up yet, we'll need to attack them within a week," the masked man said. "Keep my furs safe. You know how I despise wearing the garb of man."

One of his followers growled an assent, holding said furs.

Ezio chuckled, letting his laugh echo around the room. "I knew you followed the will of the Borgia, but I didn't think you'd be so obvious about it," he laughed, stepping forward into the torchlight. "And now you'll attend a party to see what the Borgia want next." He shook his head. "Pathetic."

"Kill him!" the masked man screamed. "Romulus commands it! Make him suffer as Remus did!"

The three turned, knives ready, but Ezio was already on them, a knife flying to land in the throat of one as Ezio's hidden blade sank into the heart of a second while his sword slashed open the gut of the third. The commotion attracted the attention of three other Followers of Romulus, who burst through a door, knives ready. Ezio growled at the interruption, as it gave the masked man time to escape, but he had to deal with the three new wolf-men first. He fired his hidden gun, taking one out, and stepped forward with his sword, deflecting a thrown knife and then slashing open the throat of a second. That left one who managed to grab Ezio from behind and throw him down. But it didn't give him any advantage as Ezio rolled, using the momentum to drive his sword up and through the man's chest, the point of his sword exploding through the furs that covered his back.

Unfortunately, the distraction had done its work. Ezio had not seen where that leader had gone. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the eagle he was named after, and reached for that part of his mind that saw things differently, and looked. To his surprise, there was a clear golden trail that his target had taken. It seemed his Eagle Vision kept improving with use and age, and Ezio thanked this ability as he swiftly took up the trail, winding through halls and abandoned rooms until he reached one of the parties being held at the Colosseo. Many were dressed as the leader of the Followers of Romulus was, but that didn't matter for Ezio. He just kept following the golden trail.

It lead through the party to another abandoned hall and deeper into the bowels of the ancient building, through twists and turns and knocked over debris as the leader continued his mad escape. Clearly, Ezio was gaining on him. He picked up his pace, and found the leader before a short, dead-end hallway with a relief of a bust at the far end. The man had run out of places to hide.

"Your death is written, _Assassino_," the leader spat.

"By who?" Ezio scoffed. "Your Borgia masters?"

"You know nothing!"

"And you are already dead."

It was a brief scuffle, but Ezio drove his hidden blade into the man's heart with decades of practice.

"_Requiescat in pace_."

He looked up to the wall, something about it tickling the back of his memory, but he shrugged. The Followers of Romulus had been dealt a blow. It was time to check back at the hideout, call in his Assassins, and see if they'd made any progress as well.

* * *

For most of the month of June Ezio was barely seen on Isola Tiberina; he and his apprentices alternated from the Papal apartment ruins to exploring the underground chambers of Il Colosseo, Ezio making them go through their paces and climbing higher and higher without the safety of a bale of hay beneath them. The three oldest, Vecellio, Enu, and Varzi, acclimated well, while the sheer trepidation of the younger two sometimes paralyzed them in fear. Ezio exercised patience above all else, coaxing and charming and drawing confidence out of them, but both apprentices just had too much vertigo to go above a certain height, and the master assassin was pressed to figure out what to do with them. It was another problem to add to his list; if he only had three viable people to help him... He needed more.

It was the evening of June 29 when Ezio finally arrived back at the warehouse with his apprentices, sending them to bed for now so he could figure out what to do, when he saw Machiavelli at his desk writing a note, a pigeon in a cage. He looked up and immediately stood.

"How is your shoulder?" he asked without preamble.

Ezio rolled the appendage automatically. "Much improved," he said, "Why?"

"An opportunity has been given to us," he replied. "Bartolomeo just sent word: Cesare has stormed Capua and won, the Colonna cousins you rescued are now captured again, or perhaps dead, reports are sketchy, but it utterly collapses the Aragon. Southern Italia is now ripe for the taking."

"... And this is an opportunity?" Ezio asked, one part of him marveling that Cesare had performed such a feat and one part of him agonizing over what the potential consequences of that could mean.

"It is, because Bartolomeo has also told us that Cesare is back in Roma to have a meeting with his inner circle. I wish the news had come sooner, but he's in the Vatican right now. Now that you are able, we can rid the world of those two poisons."

But... he had just spent the entire day training the apprentices and... No, Ezio shook his head at his own complacence, Machiavelli was right: this was an opportunity, and Ezio would be a fool to ignore it. He was certainly more prepared now, he had scaled several buildings to sketch out the _castello_ that he could see; Volpe had bribed a few guards and had a better idea of their numbers if not their patrols, and even if he couldn't get the Borgia, it was past time for him to get Caterina Sforza. He had already been roughing out a plan to break her out, now it would just be stepped up a bit. Several birds with one stone, he couldn't let something like being tired affect his decision.

… He must be getting old.

… No, he was still the fastest and the strongest, that had to mean he was still young. Right...?

He and Machiavelli left the warehouse and were soon at the square before the Ponte Sant'Angelo, the last setting sun tinting everything it touched in rich gold and red, everything else cooled with purple shadows that stretched to eternity. It was beautiful, the twilight, and Ezio looked up to the stars as they began to appear in the night sky and prayed to his father for strength.

"Remember, you are here for Cesare and Rodrigo," Machiavelli said. "I know you're thinking about Caterina, but _they_ must be your first priority."

"When and if the opportunity arises," Ezio said in low tones, "I will."

"The opportunity is _here_ Ezio, don't let your fear overtake you."

"It _isn't_ fear," Ezio said, "and I already told you I will."

Machiavelli and Ezio stared at each other, Ezio not backing down and Machiavelli assessing, gauging. Finally, he nodded. "I see your conviction," he said. "I look forward to your success."

Ezio walked away from the bridge as Machiavelli began to cross it, the diplomat welcome in its arms. Walking down the riverbank, he found a pier and took the steps down to it. The mooring poles extended out across the bridge, and Ezio hopped across them, keeping himself low so that people on the bridge could not see him if they looked down. There were more mooring poles along the edge of the wall protecting the _castello_, and soon Ezio was at a repair scaffold, hanging out over the edge so that the wrought iron fence that capped the wall could be repaired. Several links of it were removed, granting the perfect opportunity to get in, and that was all he needed.

Pressing himself to the stone, he lifted his head briefly to see into the courtyard. Three men patrolled it, two as a pair and one with a lance looking out over the river. He watched for several minutes to understand their route, and finally darted over the wall and behind the lancer, ducking into the deep shadows of the far wall and pulling the black of his cape over his whites to keep himself invisible. Damn, if he'd had more time he would have at least changed clothes!

Spying a ladder, he waited until the pair passed and fell in step behind them, matching his footfalls to theirs perfectly to make himself invisible before a ladder took him to one of the higher ramparts. Beyond it was the stable yard; Ezio could could hear and smell the horses below. The door at the end of the wall was locked, but Ezio stepped back, seeing in the final gasp of light a route up to the main wall of the _castello_. If he could get up there, then he had access to the inside, and from there he could do almost anything. Nodding, he backed up and took a running start. His left arm failed to reach the handhold he was hoping for, and he landed unexpectedly on his feet. Biting down on the curse, he tried again, and his right arm easily made the grab.

… Not as well as he thought he was. It had been over a year since the attack on Monteriggioni, what was taking so long for his arm to heal...? Hoisting himself up, he began the laborious climb, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the night as he slowly made his way up.

An hour later he looked over the lip of the wall and saw a guard passing by. Ducking back down, he waited for the man to pass before hopping over the lip and matching the guard's footsteps. Looking up the Castel Sant'Angelo rose up into the night like a massive black shadow trying to blot out the sky. Looking down showed the courtyard below, several buildings sporadically butted up against the _castello_ walls and dozens of lanterns giving small circles of light that the guards huddled around. Asking his eagle for help, he saw the grounds relatively bare, but any door he could spot was manned by guards. He could distract them to a point, but the larger problem was how. He wasn't going to wantonly kill people, he had enough blood on his hands as it was, and most of these people were likely family men, simply doing their job and unaware that their leader was a monster. Ignorance didn't save them, per se, but it did make Ezio hesitant to kill them. A smoke bomb...? No, that would make them suspicious, and therefore more alert. A distant noise? But with what? There were plenty of loose stones or tile, but would they be drawn by it?

Frowning, Ezio saw he had made his way to the corner of the wall and hopped down and to one of the inner building roofs. It was easy to work a clay roof tile loose, and he flung it out into the empty space of air, watching the guards as the tile landed.

"Another tile, sounds like," said a guard immediately below him.

"If the pope can afford those parties, surely he can afford repairs."

"Not in _our_ lifetime."

… Ezio couldn't decide whether to find the guards pragmatic or stupid, but if they wouldn't budge for a distant noise that they could identify as tile or – he tried again – a rock, then going in via a door was out of the question. Stepping deeper into the shadows, Ezio sat down against the corner of the wall and took a deep breath. No traditional entrances meant _un_traditional entrances: i.e. a window. He looked up to the massive shadow blotting out the stars, asking his eagle for help. There were precious few windows on the cylindrical building, and as he scanned up and up there were no traces of gold, no hint of intuition on how he could manage to get in without climbing all the way up. Many windows were barred.

… How long would it take to climb the _entire_ building face? He didn't even want to guess, but there were no other options for him.

He sighed.

The brickwork was ancient; originally built as the tomb of Hadrian 135 a.d., almost three hundred years later the tomb was converted to a fortress in 401 and had suffered damage many times since then. Exposed bricks, handholds, and support beams were everywhere, and Ezio took a deep breath. Mentally preparing himself for the excursion ahead, he stood and stepped out of the shadows. The beginning would be the hardest, once he was high enough he would be invisible, but the first hour or two would have to be rushed, or else roof guards would spot him and this mission would end very quickly.

Looking around he waited for his chance, and then darted across a rope strung between a wall and the _castello_, Borgia flags hanging from it and fluttering in the winds. He hugged the wall and took a deep breath, waiting to see if anyone thought the flags sudden fluttering was odd. He heard nothing saw no guttering of the lamps below. Relieved, he began his climb.

It was well after midnight when he finally reached the flat roof of the tower, and he heaved a sigh of relief. It had taken over _five hours_ to scale the _castello_ wall. Panting, he shook out his hands and fingers, their grip ruined for the foreseeable future, and rolled his aching shoulders. His left hurt more than his right and he had learned with unerring accuracy that he now had different reach for each arm, and his left was noticeably lesser. His left shoulder was also weaker than his right and he kept having to shift his weight before taking a fatal fall, and he had to rest that arm more often. He would have to talk to Dante when this was over, and he had a slight fear over what this could mean.

After twenty minutes of rest, he rolled to his feet and moved deeper into the shadows. He only saw two or three guards on the roofs; to be expected this high, few indeed would think there would be trouble here, and he allowed them their sense of security. Crawling on his stomach, he looked out over the edge of the roof and looked down. Several men were passing through, and as they passed under a lantern Ezio was instantly transported to eighteen months ago.

_ "I know you're there, Ezio!"_

_ "The Pope told me about you and your little group of Assassins..."_

_ "We've had too much bloodshed, I think a cleansing is in order."_

_ "So, consider this an invitation, from my family..."_

_ "... to yours!"_

Dark hair, red cape, neatly cropped beard; still as smug, still as arrogant, still _smiling_, and Ezio felt phantom pain in his chest, blood and smoke and memory and explosions mixing together to make his entire body still, his intense focus pinholing even further to glare at _that man_, that _damned man_, as he spoke to others around him.

"_Uncle... be careful._"

"_I will._"

"Forget the Pope, you answer only to me," he was saying, his voice smooth and charming and everything that Ezio immediately _hated_. "Roma is the pillar that holds our entire enterprise aloft. She cannot waver. Which means neither can you." Ezio glared at Cesare and his blithe assumptions, his rhetoric that his taking over all of Italia was an _enterprise_. Was Monteriggioni an _enterprise_? The cannon fire, the deaths, the fires; destroying the church, killing the children, _deliberately firing into the city_ instead of the battlements; was brashly walking into the main gate, or shouting out to Ezio in the smoke and fire, _was killing Mario an enterprise? _Hate boiled up in Ezio, reddening his vision and spiking his heart rate and clogging his ears. A fall from this height... he could survive it and _Cesare Borgia_ would be dead and _Zio_ Mario would be avenged and Ulderico would not have died in vain and Claudia and Federica would be safe and...

"_But remember for whom we Assassins fight._"

Ezio took a deep breath and held it, willing his anger in check, making himself calm down. He had learned this lesson already; killing Cesare for his attack on Monteriggioni would solve nothing. He had to let it go. He had to let... Mario go. Ulderico. Doriano. Everyone. What was past was past, killing Cesare would not make it better, would not make his losses feel better, would not make the tragedy better. Killing Cesare was about the people, about Rome, about Italia. It would do no good to kill him in an open courtyard in front of witnesses of unknown skill; it had to be done right, and there was Rodrigo after this and Caterina as well. He couldn't just make a blind jump.

… He couldn't break the Creed's second tenet.

He took another deep breath, working through his emotions.

"What of Il Vaticano?" one of the men, possibly French, asked.

"That tired old men's club? Play along for now, but soon we will have no need of them. I need to get going. You know what to do."

Cesare marched off into the building, the other three milling about. Ezio finally could think enough to study them; one was a cardinal, another with a crown. The third was unremarkable but well dressed. Who were they? He did not know, but he wished them to leave _right now_, so he could follow Cesare and find a secluded place to _fottutamente kill him._

"... He's left us Roma," the cardinal said, surprised.

"She'll be in good hands," said the nondescript man, making the one with the circlet the Frenchman.

Finally, they left.

Ezio's arms shook slightly as he climbed down to the courtyard, four of his fingers were bleeding from the exertion as were both palms and he tugged his gloves off, the leather making the pain only worse. Tucking them away, he drifted from shadow to shadow, asking his eagle for help, and finding faint traces of Cesare to follow: the smudge of a boot print, the scent of sweat and metal. The _castello_ was spacious and grand, and deeply shadowed in the dead of night with few windows. Ezio's boots echoed off the marble floors, and he took great care to move slowly and silently, wishing once again that he was in darker robes to be even more invisible. Eventually he followed the trail up some stairs and to some kind of library. Guards were there and Ezio stayed to the doorway, looking up to a balcony and seeing Cesare meeting with a bright head of blond hair.

"Cesare."

"Lucrezia."

The pair kissed. Intimately. Ezio's eyes widened when he saw one tongue enter the mouth of another, one hand grip a waist while another slipped down to touch...

...! They were _siblings!_ Ezio covered his mouth to mute his disgust. To do that to his own sister, and for her to desire it...!

"I hope you have been treating our guest with kindness," Cesare said softly, his voice only barely reaching Ezio's ears. The charm that radiated out of it sounded oily, expectant, in its softer tones.

"Sforza? She's been quiet lately; perhaps she has at last learned her place. That mouth on her... How I'd love to sew it shut," Lucrezia said, looking away and her pretty face turning spiteful and angry.

"I rather like it open, myself," Cesare said in lecherous tones.

"Oh?" his sister countered in a flat, warning voice.

Cesare only offered a soft chuckle, cupping her cheek in his hand before changing subjects. "Have you talked to the Pope about the funds requested by my banker?"

Lucrezia turned away, her face jealous and shallow, but she took a deep breath and answered. "He is away from the _castello_, and he might need some convincing when he returns."

Rodrigo Borgia wasn't here? What of Machiavelli's information? Ezio held in a growl, frustrated that the opportunity had shrunk. Why was Borgia away? Where would he have even gone? The pope so rarely left Roma. One of the birds had been lost, but there were still two others to stone. Ezio willed himself even more still, watching the siblings, the... _lovers_... and waiting for his opportunity to strike.

"That shouldn't be a problem, should it?" Cesare asked in his oily whisper.

"No," Lucrezia said slowly. Ezio watched her take a breath and turn back to her brother. "Only... it gets quite lonely here. You and I spend so little time together these days, busy as you are with your other conquests."

"Soon," Cesare replied to the suddenly shy blond. He turned her around and placed his hand liberally on her breast, leaning into her personal space and slowly backing her against a bookshelf. "Once I have secured the throne of Italia, you are going to be my queen, and your loneliness will be a thing of the past." Her face blossomed from shy to hopeful to expectant. Ezio could see the beauty return to her, eyelashes fluttering and cheeks flushing. She took a deep, heaving breath that made her chest move, and her answer was breathy, throaty, _lustful_.

"I cannot wait."

Cesare leaned in for another scandalous kiss, a hand reaching up and tangling in her luscious blond locks before fisting them and pulling her head back.

"Now..." he said in a soft, disconcertingly coy voice, "Behave yourself while I am gone."

Lucrezia gave a fuzzy nod, and Cesare strode off, down the stairs and Ezio was quickly backing up himself, only just finding a shadow to disappear into before Cesare descended the stairs and into the hall.

Ezio was hard pressed to keep up and remain silent, and if the _bastardo_ was heading out like that conversation implied he had little time indeed left for this opportunity. He extended his hidden blade, wishing he had been given more time to plan; he was losing sense of where he was.

"Open the gate! The Captain General is leaving for Urbino! _Buona fortuna_, _Padron_ Cesare!"

_Merda. MERDA!_ The opportunity was gone! Ezio watched Cesare march out of the _castello_ and to the stable yard. There was no way to catch up to him now. Machiavelli was going to be _very_ disappointed.

With Cesare and Rodrigo both gone, that left only one other priority left: Caterina Sforza. She was still alive, thank God, and now Ezio needed to find her. A small miracle indeed, with the sun rising and the light making him more visible. Struggling to remember how he had arrived where he was, he attempted to backtrack. The _castello_ prisons were below ground, Volpe had learned that much, and he needed to find a stairwell that lead in that direction. He wasn't completely sure where he was, however; he had lost track of the halls and corridors Cesare had lead him through. Cursing vociferously in his head, he eventually found himself under a portico, looking out over a courtyard. It frustrated him only momentarily, for now he was oriented in the building: It was a different courtyard than the one he had seen earlier, meaning this was on the other side of the _castello_, if that was the case then... that archway he had passed... Yes, he remembered where the stairs were from here.

"I love you so, I want to sing it to the heavens."

"Pietro! You must whisper it only to yourself."

Ezio paused, recognizing that distinctive voice. Peering around the portico he saw the red dress, the blond hair. Lucrezia...? What was she doing now? It was near dawn... "If Cesare found out, who knows what he would do."

A man, brunette, sat by her on a bench, indecently close. "Are you not newly widowed?"

Lucrezia turned away, her face flushed in humiliation. "He killed my husband."

Ezio remembered; Machiavelli had mentioned it when he had first arrived in Rome. It was the reason weapons were banned in the Vatican.

The man paled considerably. "Oh," he said in a quick, slightly strangled voice.

"Cesare has always been jealous of my attentions," she said, reaching over and touching the man's thigh, "but that should not deter us."

"No?"

"I will keep our secret," she said softly, barely heard by Ezio, as she leaned in, touching her nose to the man's.

"Lucrezia. Your lips call to me."

And they kissed, just as intimately as Lucrezia had kissed her brother, and Ezio felt a new wave of disgust wash over him. No wonder she was such a fine weapon for the pope, she was nothing more than a high-born whore... now she was deliberately bedding this _idiota_ just to make her brother jealous...? Of all the shallow, cheap, indecent...!

Birds fluttered above, and the two broke apart. "What was that?" the _puttana_ asked, her lips swollen and face flushed.

"I... I am late for rehearsal," the man said quickly, getting up and looking around like a nervous pheasant. His excuse was obvious. "Farewell, my love," he added with a deep bow.

Ezio ducked behind a different pillar of the portico, the shadows still deep enough to hide him in the dawn light, and watched the man – an actor? - dart away. Ezio waited, a man that scared would be paranoid, and the master assassin didn't want to press his luck. As he gave the man time to make his escape, he heard a guard approach. "I heard the entire exchange, _mia Signora_, and can vouch for it."

"Good. Tell Cesare. We shall see how it feels when the shoe is on the other foot."

"Yes, _Signora_."

Of all the...! Ezio watched the guard bow and walk off as the blond Lucrezia pick a flower, pulling its petals. "He loves me. He loves me not."

Utterly devoted to her flowers, Ezio knew he was in the clear, and silently slipped back into the building, knowing now where he was supposed to go and finding the archway he wanted. Passing under it he found a stairwell going down, and the lush marble walls and floors were quickly replaced with ancient, dingy stone and narrow passages, lanterns and lamps replaced with simple torches. Guard presence also increased, and any hope of not killing them flew out the window. Sighing, he silently extended his hidden blade and stabbed a guard as he passed around the corner, pulling the corpse with shaky arms to line the wall before continuing down.

Now it was a race against time. Dawn light was visible even this far down, and he didn't want to think about how late it was.

Or how long it had been since he slept.

He had to kill two more guards before he heard a familiar, throaty voice.

"Oh. My back. Please, can you reach this water jug for me? I cannot get it myself."

"... Anything else I can reach, Princess?"

"No. You must come closer. You boys are being so good to me."

"It's easy with a view like yours."

Ezio saw two guards handing a water jug to a pale, bony hand through the filthy bars of a cell. Caterina Sforza was many things, but _bony_ was never one of them, and Ezio realized – not for the first time – just how long she had been locked away; fifteen months was a long, long time it seemed. Something twisted in his gut, seeing such a strong woman reduced to a bony structure... his silence was shed as he marched into the room, extending his hidden blade and ramming it brutally into the first guard, leaving a bloody gurgle as he shoved the body aside. The second guard turned, a curse on his lips but Ezio stabbed again, deep into the stomach and twisting before pulling out and stabbing a second time and ramming the skull into the bars.

Caterina looked up at him in utter shock. Ezio looked down in a similar state. Her skin was ghostly pale, and she had easily lost a third of her weight, gone from pleasantly soft to bony and ragged. She was still in the half-torn garments she had arrived in over a year ago, now even dirtier and more torn – one breast threatened to be exposed, her skirt ripped almost up to her hip. Her face was hollow, her eyes heavily shadowed, dark and haunted. What had they _done_ to her? She was but a shadow of former self.

But, just like that, her dark face lit up, eyes welling with tears. "Ezio... You're alive! You're _alive_!"

Her heartfelt plea pulled at his heart, and he couldn't stop the wince as he crouched down and began picking the pockets of the corpses.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," he muttered, digging through pockets. "After the attack..."

"I saw the smoke, everyone said you were dead, your corpse dragged through the city. I should have stayed..."

The memories filled Ezio's eyes again, their night together, the hard kiss before he sent her away to her people, Ulderico dragging him away from the fighting... He could still smell the smoke, and he suddenly felt sick. "It... seems to have worked out," he said in a thick voice, finding the keys at last.

"Rescuing me will provoke Cesare's wrath," Caterina said, her face darkening deeply, pain flitting across her features. Ezio cursed Cesare even further for damaging Caterina that badly. He started flipping through the keyring.

"Fortunately for us, he is away. Can you walk?" He found a key of the right size and tried it; failing and trying again. He eyed the leg visible from the tear in her clothing. Her knee was swollen and bruised, her ankle was shaped wrong.

"... No."

The right key finally worked and he swung the door open. Caterina half hobbled, half fell through the door, collapsing into Ezio's arms, cursing under her breath. Ezio closed his eyes briefly, thinking about what he knew of the layout now and how to get out quickly. The bodies were going to be noticed soon if not already, time was against them. The stable yard was the best bet, but how to get there quickly? As soon as they went to the main hall they would be obvious, but there had to be some kind of service entrance...

Wait, that grate he had passed earlier...

Nodding, he pulled his arm under Caterina's legs and lifted her up.

"Ezio, you can't... Your hands..."

"Are perfectly fine," Ezio said with grace and charm, even as it became painfully obvious that his hours spent climbing had taken their toll, shaking visibly. He walked quickly; sweat once more accumulating along his brow under his hood, and hoping his stamina could last long enough. The grate was farther than he had initially thought, and he was breathing heavily through his nose – a sign of his exhaustion, as he set Caterina down and worked the lock and lifted the grate. Below, as he remembered, was a haystack, meaning it lead eventually to the stable. Nodding, he lifted the countess again.

When she saw what he was planning she leveled a heated glare. "Don't you _dare_," she hissed, but Ezio only offered a winning smile as he hoisted her out into the empty air and she gave a mighty shriek as she fell. He gave her thirty seconds before leaping after her, burying them deeply into the hay. "_Figlio di puttana_. Never do that to me again!" she hissed as he saw a patrol sweep in and figure out what the noise was. He gestured Caterina to wait. He needed to rest his arms and watch the patrols to see what their patterns were.

"... Why save me, Ezio?" she whispered after several minutes. Her voice was dejected, worn, defeated. "With Forlì taken, I am useless to you."

Ezio hated to hear that voice on such a powerful, self-sufficient woman. He hated to think what she had gone through in her captivity to make her sound like that, and he could all too easily imagine what had happened to her if Lucrezia was any indication. If Cesare was. Silently, he reached out to touch her bony hand, feeling bruises and cuts and scrapes.

"You have a family," he said softly.

She looked away, guilt coloring her face. "It is not your family," she whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse, filled with an emotion he couldn't place.

"Perhaps not, but I've seen firsthand how dear your children are to you. I know how strong you've been for their sake. I respect you too much to see you taken from them." To his surprise, her face became even more pained, and she looked away. He wanted to comment, to ask what was wrong, but another patrol passed through, and Ezio counted back. Not long... He waited for another patrol to confirm it.

"... That night at the Villa. I had to ensure our allegiance to protect Forlì. Do you understand, Ezio?"

Ezio turned to look at her, seeing her darkened face and broken spirit.

… It hurt to hear it out loud, but... "Politics. Of course. I knew it. You need not explain." His nightly escapades had always sprung from an emotion: being close to Federico, trying to forget Cristina, hoping to will away nightmares. It hurt him deeply that Caterina had used it for a colder, more calculated reason. He had hoped that night was about more. He honestly cared for the Tigress, had enjoyed their affair years earlier even when he learned it had broken one of his personal rules. He admired her tenacity, her spirit, her desire to do things her way. She protected her children on her own terms, and she was as fierce as her namesake when they were threatened. There were so few women who were masters of themselves, and he found them beautiful; visions to be respected. He had hoped such a respect was returned but... there was a price to being masters. Caterina was forever looking over her shoulder, forced to do things to keep what she had; almost all of her marriages had been about that, and the one that wasn't had been the biggest mistake of her life, forcing her own son to choose between her happiness and the good of Forli. At Forli, it had been mutual attraction, chemistry; but Monteriggioni had – apparently – had none of that.

"_Tonight is all about you._"

Yes... It had been all about him, all about making him feel good enough to lend her his troops.

Politics.

He looked to her again, seeing her disheveled state, wondering again what they had done to her. What had made her feel the need to press that point, to deliberately state why she had seduced him that night, why she felt so worthless to wonder why he would risk so much to save her. What had they done to cut so deeply into her spirit?

The first thought made him swallow.

"Did they...? Did Cesare...?" his voice died, unable to form the question, to make it real.

Her gaze softened, slightly. "No. My name must still have some small value. I was left... unspoiled."

The guards arrived a third time, and Ezio was confident of the times now; as soon as they were gone he rolled out of the hay, helping the former countess do the same and lifting her up into his protesting arms again. He moved quickly if not silently, exhaustion making his movements slightly sloppy, but he followed the hallway, killing guards as he had to and making more noise about it as time began to press. It was midmorning now, the _castello_ _must_ have known about his presence, Caterina's escape, by now.

At last, however, they made it to the stables and Ezio helped hoist her into a saddle, her swollen leg pointing out awkwardly before finding a cape and handing it to her, hiding the worst of her lack of dress. Ezio mounted himself, the leather reins torture on his ripped hands and fingers, and they quickly kicked their horses into a trot and boldly rode out into the sunlight and across the bridge.

"Go to Isola Tiberina," he said softly, eyeing the guards as they, in turn, eyed them. They weren't going to make it; they were going to be discovered. He could already see guards running across the bridge. He cursed. "Find Machiavelli there. He will be waiting for me."

"What about you?"

Ezio smoothly leapt off his horse. "Someone has to stay here and distract the guards," he said, drawing his sword.

The countess looked stricken. "Get back in one piece, or I will never forgive myself."

"_Go!_"

Slapping the rump of her horse, he turned to face the men advancing and took a deep breath. He looked up briefly to the bright blue of the morning sky. "Father... Altair... Forgive me for what I'm about to do..."

The first guard was barely a boy, running blindly to a target with no understanding of just what he was running into. Ezio gripped Altair's sword tightly in his hand, the leather bindings pulling at his palms, and jabbed the blade into the boy's gut, his angle and the lad's own momentum making it pierce out the other side. He shoved the body off as a full patrol encircled him, and the fight was on.

Two things were to Ezio's advantage: his sword and his experience. Against him, however, was the long excursion, the climb, his bad shoulder, and several other things that threatened to turn the tide against him. He asked his eagle for strength, and as the first guard, a lancer, swung, he dodged and split the shaft in two, shocking everyone with the strength of the blow and stabbing the man in the gut, circling around to shove his blade seamlessly into the knees of a second man, spinning around and then slashing at the exposed back of a third, extending his hidden blade and slashing the throat of a fourth, and blocking a dagger and countering to a fifth. He kept moving, afraid if he stopped then exhaustion would overtake him and he would make a mistake, and so instead he was like water, flowing from one target to the next to the next.

Kicking a man at the knee to send him down, Ezio grabbed the back of the guard's neck and fired his gun, the sound reverberating off of the square and adding to the cacophony of screams and bloodthirsty cries and death throws. Armorless or thinly covered men fell at his boots like sacks of wheat, his sword and hidden blade too fast, too experienced, too tightly controlled to be a threat. Altair's sword gave him better range than any guard with a knife or dagger and they, too, were quickly dispatched.

With a dozen bodies at his feet a natural pause happened and Ezio realized he was starting to breathe out of his mouth instead of his nose, a bad sign. The guards had also traded off for more heavily armored men: thicker chestplates and crested helmets and several brutes in full armor.

"He's tiring, press the attack now!"

Like _hell_.

A smoke bomb would have been perfect about now, but the rush to the _castello_ had cost him dearly in preparation, and so he instead ducked under the brutal swing of an axe from a brute and kicked hard at the hip, meaningless to the brute but giving Ezio enough momentum to add strength to a viscous slash to the exposed neck of a captain, swinging the body in front of him and using as a shield to the next battle axe. The weapon caught on bone, and Ezio circled around the brute, hidden blade easily finding the chink in the thick armor and stabbing into the armpit and twisting before ejecting and spinning around to swing at another guard. A block followed that shook his already abused arms all the way up to his shoulders, and he staggered backward against the heavy strike, his hands numb and his blade slipping in his bloody grip. His bad shoulder throbbed and he was openly panting now, sweat dripping down his forehead, stray strands of hair getting in his eyes. Something appeared at his feet and he looked down to see a crossbow bolt. Damn, the archers had finally gotten into position!

He couldn't wait any longer, he had to get out of here.

His eagle warned him on an attack to his right, but he could feel he was too slow to react, knew the blow would be catastrophic if it landed, and only managed to lift his sword up to deflect when it slid out of his hands. It startled both men, Ezio staring at the captain for a brief moment, before the entire ground shook and an explosion shouted its presence in the air.

… What was _that_?

Everyone looked back over the bridge, seeing a pillar of smoke rising from the stables. Another explosion sounded, a fireball rising up into the air and transforming into an ugly black burst of smoke.

"_Back to the _castello_!_" a guard shouted.

"Protect the Pope! This was a distraction!"

Everyone ran across the bridge, several guards also running _away_ from the chaos, cowardice overtaking them. The people had long since disappeared, and Ezio was left alone, panting, covered in blood and organs and brain matter.

Stillness settled over him, and he looked to his feet. He could not quickly count the number of bodies that littered the ground.

… He had been the epicenter of a massacre – a slaughter that served no purpose other than to buy time. Was that worth it? Did that make the murder he had just committed justified? How could...

Later. He had to think of this later, he had to escape first.

Grabbing the sword he mechanically cleaned the sword of Altair on his sash and only realized belatedly it was just as bloody as his sword. His robes were more red than white, and he suddenly felt dirty; more than just the blood and the sweat. Shaking his head, he ducked down the first narrow alley he could find and began looking for a ladder. He couldn't stay on the streets long.

Ezio lasted perhaps twenty minutes before a street patrol, already hyper alert because of the explosion at the Vatican, spotted his bloody clothes and gave chase. Cursing, he pushed his exhausted body into an all-out sprint, putting as much distance between him and them as he could before ducking into an alley, taking a sharp left and then a sharp right, and jumping into a well, his hands _hating _him as he clung to the lip and pressed his boots against the edges of the well – anything to relieve the pressure on his ruined hands. He heard the footsteps rush past him, and he waited another thirty breaths before daring to peek his head out. It was clear, and he hobbled back onto the street and ducked into a courtyard to hide and catch his breath.

A band of thieves were there, and they stared at him wide-eyed before he collapsed behind a tree.

"I don't have any coin on me now," he whispered, voice hoarse and sporadic between his greedy gulps of air, "but can I buy your silence?"

"You're the _maestro_," one of them whispered. "You beat La Volpe in a race..."

"Then he's the one we were sent to find. Vincenzo, find some new clothes; Alessio, bandages; Marzio, wine."

Ezio looked up to the sky, it was near noon. He had been up for nearly thirty-six hours. Sighing, he began the laborious process or pulling off his hidden blade and armor, knowing that a spare change of clothes was coming and bandages would certainly be needed when the adrenaline wore off and he realized how poorly he had likely fought on the bridge. Good lord, so many dead at his hand...

The next few hours were fuzzy at best, the thieves retrieved what they needed quickly – to be expected after being trained by Gilberto, and helped Ezio into his new clothes. He drank the wine greedily, as well as the bread, and was eventually able to get up on shaky feet. The four thieves stayed near him, two disappearing up to the roofline, and Ezio began a slow, circuitous, painful walk back to the warehouse. His brain was filled with the bodies he had created, the slaughter he had committed, the murder he had executed, and felt – not for the first time – just what the cost of this war with the Templars entailed. How could he have done it differently? How could he have prevented the sin he had just committed?

… Just how many bodies lay at his feet over the course of his life? He had only painted the ones he planned on killing, but there were so, _so_ many others. Was this his destiny? Would he be cursed to kill people for the rest of his life, did the Assassins do nothing else?

No... there had to be something else. Something better, bigger, something that somehow, someway, balanced out the terrible deeds they did.

"_Maestro_!"

Ezio looked up to see Vecellio gliding down from a flower trellis in the middle of a busy street.

"You're alive!"

"_Idiota!_" he growled. "Think about where you are!"

Vecellio froze, his eyes wide under his grey hood, and bowed his head. "We were so worried, we saw the explosions... we weren't sure..."

"Has Caterina Sforza arrived?"

"I don't know, _Maestro_, we've been looking for you since we saw the explosions. Enu is still at the hideout, he would know."

Ezio nodded his thanks to the thieves and they disappeared into the crowds. Without the extra bodies he stiffened his posture, still acutely aware of his surroundings.

"_Maestro_, what happened? Your hands..."

"Go ahead and look for Dante," Ezio ordered instead. "Bring him to the warehouse and let him know that I'm coming, as is a _Contessa_ who is in desperate need of medical attention."

"I can't just..."

"Go, I'll be fine."

Vecellio's face was pained with indecision, before he sprinted down an ally and up a ladder, doing as he was told. He had a good heart. Ezio sat on a bench to catch his breath. Again.

"I wonder what happened at the Vatican, did you see the smoke?"

"Yes, we can only hope those _bastardi_ got what was coming to them."

"The Assassin will kill them all... though it will take a little time."

"If I ever see him, I'll kill any guards trying to give chase."

"And probably die in the process, _idiota_."

"The guards came to collect taxes again. I've already paid all I can. I don't know what more I can do..."

"My daughter was taken by them. I'm sure the pope has ruined her by now, but I'm too afraid to go and get her. I don't want my other children to suffer..."

"They think they can do anything they want..."

"Someday they'll get their comeuppance..."

"All I need is a little courage, then..."

"The Assassin will help, or else it's all for naught..."

Ezio watched the crowds go by, eyes as hooded as his face, before grunting up to his feet and turning towards the Isola Tiberina.

* * *

It was midafternoon when he finally arrived, he eased into the warehouse and was pounced upon by all of his apprentices, bombarded with questions and ushered unerringly to one of the rooms where Dante was standing, tending to a significantly cleaner Caterina. The redhead looked up and nearly burst from her chair.

"Ezio!"

"_Maestro_, just _what_ have you done to yourself?"

There was very little talking after that, Dante taking complete charge of the room and giving crisp orders to the apprentices, asking for candles or rags or other implements. Caterina's leg was bound from ankle to hip, her skin even paler in the daylight, and Ezio could see even more damage he had not noticed earlier. Her leg had to be rebroken and set, among other things, and she was forbidden to move for the next six weeks, on top of being on a strict diet and a regiment of wine mixed with something to help her sleep for the next four days.

Ezio, for his part, was too exhausted to fully understand the words coming out of Dante's increasingly irate mouth as he diagnosed what was wrong with him. He had discovered a nasty slash on his shin he didn't know about, along with a broken toe and a twisted wrist. This did not include the more obvious strain he had placed on his arms, and as Dante rubbed a salve that _stung to high heaven_, Ezio perked up enough to explain – in part – what he had discovered during his climbing the previous night.

Dante examined the shoulder, nodding to himself before giving Ezio a glass of wine that must have been spiked, because the next thing he knew he was in his bed looking blearily at Varzi, who quietly got up and disappeared.

Dante arrived and sat down by Ezio. "You gave those... apprentices of yours quite the scare," he said slowly. "_Maestro,_ it's safer for me not to ask, but in what you 'do' you need to take better care of your body if you want to live a long life."

Ezio blinked, frowning.

"When we first met you had holes in your shoulder the size of florins, and no matter how much I tried to warn you, you didn't look after it as carefully as you should. You kept reopening the wound until I was forced to bind your arm, do you remember?"

"_Si_."

"_Maestro_, the scar tissue on that injury is so thick now that there's nothing I can do. You will _never_ have the reach you did before you were shot because of it. I know you've been working to retrain your muscles, but your shoulder will never be as strong as it was because of the extra damage you did to it before I bound it. I've seen your body, you should be crippled by now, but you've always listened to your doctors before. I would ask that you _please_ listen to me when I tell you that I don't want you exercising for the next two weeks."

"... It was never about listening," Ezio said softly, looking away. "I just... had someone looking out for me." Oh, _Zio_...

Sighing, he pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the bed. Dante watched with a critical eye, but Ezio only shrugged on his boots with his bandaged hands and walked with _achingly_ sore muscles to the room he assumed had been assigned to Caterina. She, too, was in bed, her leg propped up with pillows. There was more color in her cheeks, and she was eating a thin soup.

"It's good to see you out and about," she said warmly, eying his own bandages.

"_Si_," he replied. "Where is Machiavelli?"

Caterina shook her head. "I could not find him."

"I brought the _Contessa_ here," a new voice said.

Ezio turned, surprised to see Volpe in the warehouse, and more surprised that he had not noticed the man yesterday. But, then, he was a master thief, after all. "I am grateful for your aid," he said, bowing slightly. "And for your thieves."

Gilberto nodded. "I had initially come to give you some information I've discovered. None of your apprentices knew where you were, only that you had a meeting with Machiavelli and left. I knew about Bartolomeo's message, and I was halfway to the Vatican when I saw the _Contessa_ riding as if the devil were at her heels. She told me what happened."

Ezio nodded, sitting down on a stool and motioning for his friend to do the same. "And what have you discovered?"

"Caterina."

Everyone sans Dante looked up to see Machiavelli at the door.

"Care to tell us where you have been?" Volpe asked, his violet gaze narrow and his posture much more rigid.

"Looking for Ezio," he said. "I heard what happened in the _castello_. What of Cesare and Rodrigo?"

Ezio winced at what was likely to be another blowout. "Cesare rode off before I could get close to him," he explained, "and Rodrigo was somewhere else entirely."

Machiavelli openly blinked, a frown crossing his features before he schooled himself again. "That is odd. Rodrigo is usually at the _castello_."

"Very odd indeed," indeed, Volpe said with a trace of irony in his voice. "Where ever did you get your information?"

"... A reliable source. He has never been wrong before," Machiavelli said, eyes lost in thought. "What a waste. No offense," he added quickly, gazing at Caterina.

"None taken," she said softly, looking away. "I wasn't much of a prize to begin with..."

"Your endeavors were not without sacrifice, it seems," Machiavelli said after a beat, eyeing Ezio's bandaged hands. "I'll look after the apprentices."

"I'll stick around as well," Volpe said suddenly. "After the showmanship on the bridge, you will want an extra set of eyes." He gave Ezio a significant look and followed Machiavelli out. Ezio sighed, hunching forward to put his elbows on his knees. Caterina said nothing, and for a long time they just sat there.

* * *

The next day found Ezio up on the roof, sitting on its edge and looking out over the island and the river. If he looked at just the right angle, he could see the bank, and watched as Romeo flit in and out of the bank and down the street to the new blacksmith Etienne to settle the next installment. He saw a group of young men loitering on the bridge, talking and gesturing wildly, their words sometimes carried on the air currents.

"... Borgia _rapers_..."

"... the Assassin will get them..."

"... want to help him..."

He had heard similar epitaphs before, and he went back into the warehouse and out onto the street.

"Ah, _Maestro_!" Ezio turned to see Salvatore darting up to him. "There you are!"

"... What is it?"

"Have you seen these?" the stableman said, lifting up a shredded bit of parchment. Ezio blinked, grabbing the poster and looking at it. It was... a wanted poster... of him. Damn, _damn,_ now what was he going to do? The apprentices weren't used to tearing these things down, and he had promised Dante not to exercise...

"We were worried, too," Salvatore said, seeing Ezio's expression. "It looks so much like you, but don't worry. We've all been tearing them down."

"You... what?" Ezio asked, looking up from his poster.

"All of us," Salvatore said. "Me, Etienne and his boy, that seamstress Arianna, those boys on the Trastevere west bank, even some courtesans. We all know it wasn't you, but the papacy doesn't care about look-alikes, so we've been taking them all down, all the ones we can find, at any rate."

Ezio blinked, uncomprehending for several seconds. "Do you know what they will do to you if they find out?" he asked, incredulous at first.

Salvatore nodded his head. "They'd be hard pressed to stop all of us, and a lashing here and there is worth it, _Maestro_, after everything you've done for us. Helping you makes us feel like we're doing something. Anyway, I wanted you to know; you'll have to keep your head down for a bit until they find the real troublemaker."

Salvatore ambled away, and Ezio stared after the man for several minutes, lost in the gesture that had just been done for him.

Eventually, he shook his head and refocused, but the men on the bridge were gone. Frowning, he pulled his hood down and slowly ambled into the streets. Everyone was talking about the mysterious smoke at the Castel Sant'Angelo: some said it was an explosion, others thought it a fire, still others thought it was a failed assault by the Assassin. Someone asked if the heralds knew what was happening, and Ezio found one and stood in the crowd, listening to the announcements.

"The _consiglio rionale_ asks all residents to visually ascertain whether or not the street is empty before throwing trash from their widows and chutes. The _camerlengo_ will be using public funds to replace his doublet. _Consiglio_ asks that whoever is using the _rione's_ buildings as a personal playground to please be careful of laundry lines and their supports. There have been many reports of weakened posts snapping and God knows white small clothes are the devil to get clean. Ossonati di Roma is making a far-reaching appeal to all Romans to please be careful when taking bricks and marble from old ruins. A section of the Colosseo fell down and killed a kitten last week, greatly disgusting Senator De Rossi. All pilgrims arriving in Rome should avoid the _cittas_ bridges after dark. Recent rumbles of armed youth have led to death among our esteemed faithful visitors. Avoiding certain colored clothing and accessories when in certain _rioni_ is advised. A resurgence in lightweight coinage has been plaguing the _chitta_ recently. The various _Rinoi_ councils and most guild member shops have the necessary scales on site to preform verification. Remember the penalties for tampering with any official mint issue, is most severe."

Ezio frowned. Using the buildings as a personal playground? That was the only overt mention of the Order, there was no connection or even mention of the explosions or the escape of Caterina Sforza. The rumbles after dark were Volpe and the Cento Occhi, he knew, and likely the rival Thieves' Guild was the source of the bad coin. He stayed for another hour, listening to other announcements but heard nothing else of value.

Working his way back into the streets, he joined a collection of people standing in a loose circle exchanging gossip.

"My mother is sick again... I don't think she'll make it this time..."

"They say they're going to fund the repair of Castel Sant'Angelo through the city funds. What is the Senate _doing_ that they allow the papacy to just rob us like that?"

"I hear there is an assassin about... bad business all around."

"Speak for yourself, he's the only decent man in the entire city. I saw him once in Firenze; he saved us from that _bastardo_ Savonarola. If I see him again I'm going to go right up to him and ask him to kill that damn Borgia."

"Of course you'd ask someone else to do the hard work."

"No! I'll help him too, by God."

"Even if that means dying for him?" Ezio asked, eyeing the man for his reaction. The man paled, coughing and looking away.

"... I would," a girl said, and everyone turned to stare at her.

"You can't be serious!"

"I would," she said again, quiet but intense. "The Borgia killed my fiancé. I have nothing left. If my death made the Assassin's work even that much easier, I'd do it. In a heartbeat."

"Crazy girl..."

"No hope for that one..."

"No one will marry her..."

The group left for their different errands, but Ezio looked to the girl, still standing, looking out at the square with burning eyes. "They robbed me of everything," she muttered, "I'll kill them all." She turned and went back to her work.

Ezio followed her all the way to her home, mind flitting back and forth, before he went back to the warehouse and its roof, looking north to the Castel Sant'Angelo and thinking. Hard.

That night he watched Machiavelli and Volpe stare at each other over the heads of the apprentices while they trained, hanging from pillars to develop grip endurance and aiming throwing knives at a straw dummy. Dante changed his bandages and followed Ezio into Caterina's room as he examined her. "Ezio," she said softly, looking at him fondly before lifting her skirt for her leg to be examined.

"It's good to see the color back in you," Ezio said. "I look forward to your spirit returning, too."

Caterina looked away, her eyes hollow and distant.

Ezio wondered if that would be the new normal for her. They sat together until Dante was finished with his work, disappearing back to his shop to gather supplies.

"You have quite the problem."

Startled out of his thoughts, Ezio looked over to the _Contessa_. "Pardon?" he asked.

"Those two," she said. "I see Machiavelli is still an acquired taste. That thief of yours can't stand him."

Ezio sighed. "I'm well aware of that."

"Then do something about it."

"Like what?"

Caterina shrugged. "I don't know. But distrust that deep can't last without one killing the other. I know that better than anyone..." she said softly, looking away again. "I lost more than I could know learning that the hard way..." Ezio knew she was talking about her son trying to kill her husband, and he watched her face drift into memory, hallowing out and darkening. She stayed that way for a long time before turning back to the master assassin. "I'm sorry, Ezio," she said slowly. "Saving me did not gain you very much."

Ezio shook his head. "It wasn't about that."

She smiled softly. "I know, but I cannot repay the kindness you have shown me. Milan has fallen, I don't know where my uncle Ludovico is, and Giovanni has been taken down by Cesare. My family is not as powerful as it was. I wonder if this is the end of us..."

Ezio gazed at her for a long moment, trying to think about how he could help her, before he took a breath. "It will do you no good to think like that, _Contessa_," he said slowly. "You have been through a great ordeal – more so because I could not get to you sooner. I have been where you are, counting my losses and wondering what kind of future I will have." He could still remember the night he and his family had escaped Monteriggioni, Claudia helping a mute Maria with nothing but the clothes on their back, uncertain if an unknown uncle would take them in, uncertain where to run and be safe, uncertain of... everything. "I learned that I had more than I thought; you will, too. You must count your blessings first: your children, your family, your friends. They will carry you through this."

Her face didn't change, the bright smile or sassy grin did not appear, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and her eyes brightened slightly, and Ezio took that as a good sign.

* * *

For the next several days he wandered out to the streets, sometimes with an apprentice, most times not, milling about with the people, passing off his bandaged hands as a riding accident. The heralds had nothing more to say about the Assassins – Ezio had made sure of _that_ the day he heard the announcement – but there were no new developments concerning the papacy or Cesare. More than a few people told Ezio about their taking down the wanted posters as far as the Campidoglio, and expressed their outrage that the posters were even up since Ezio was _obviously_ such an upright, honorable man. Several people wondered if there would be another attack on a Borgia tower, there was a great sense of relief in seeing smoke billow from their windows, and Ezio found over a dozen people boldly heckling city guards at stairs or on patrol. They were always at a safe distance, and always quickly dispersed if the guards decided to do something, but a year ago no one even _dared_ do such a thing, and Ezio spent his afternoons on the roof of the warehouse thinking.

It couldn't just be anybody, he needed particular personalities if he was going to do this... like that woman who had lost her fiancé... but would it really work?

… Yes, yes it would.

At the end of his two weeks, Dante lifted his restrictions as he lifted the bandages. The cuts had all healed to the point where he could climb without pain, and he had not stopped stretching and limbering his battered limbs, making him almost fit as a fiddle. He summoned Volpe and Machiavelli; after two weeks together he was beginning to think Volpe would burst with suspicion, and Machiavelli was showing an increased moodiness.

Without preamble, he said: "With Cesare gone to Urbino, we must build our forces."

Machiavelli of course frowned. "Weren't you just trying to take care of Cesare and his father two weeks ago? I thought we intended to strike now?"

Caterina, propped in a chair with her foot on a settee, shook her head. "Impossible. Cesare commands a massive army in Romagna. You would never reach him."

Ezio nodded. "With the conquests he has accumulated, I am inclined to agree. Trying to breach his forces would be suicide. I say we work here, in Roma: Erode the Borgia's influence while restoring our own. And in fact, I want to begin right now. I have an idea. Volpe, bring Claudia and Bartolomeo here. I want a full meeting for this. Machiavelli, meet me outside."

Volpe nodded, grinning slightly under his hood with whatever presumptions he was making, and disappeared from the warehouse. Ezio left Dante with Caterina and brought Machiavelli out and over the bridge, into the city proper.

"Look," Ezio said, pointing to the people. They walked past the poor and destitute, people in rags begging for coin or bread, gossiping about how little they had and how unfair it was. "The Borgia rob everything from the people to maintain power."

"... What do you intend to do?"

"We will recruit them to our cause."

Machiavelli's head snapped towards the master assassin, incredulous. "You cannot be serious."

"I am perfectly serious," Ezio said. "To win this war, Machiavelli, we need loyal soldiers. By recruiting enemies of the state, we arm those who have been disarmed by the Borgia."

"They are _sheep_, Ezio, I have told you this over and over, and still you refuse to see the truth. They are cowards, just as ready to pick your pocket, if you recall. Where were the people when the Borgia took power? When Monteriggioni was attacked? What do you think they will do, told they are hired by an Assassin and sent on an assignment? They'll go straight to the Borgia looking for coin!"

"No, Machiavelli," Ezio said, wanting to curb this debate before it started. Again. "You are right in that people will do whatever serves them best in most circumstances, but it is foolish to think that _every person_ in the world is like that. If that were the case, men like _us_ would not exist, and the Templars would not suffer the opposition we give them. Not all men want to be told what to do, and those are the men that we must recruit. Here, let me show you."

Ezio lead Machiavelli through the crowds and to the house of the girl, watching her leave on her errands and join, eventually, a group of gossips. Ezio joined in the conversation, saying little but gently steering it to the topic of the Assassins, and looked pointedly at Machiavelli as the girl professed, once more, her willingness to die to make life better.

"Why do you believe in the Assassin?" Ezio asked.

"Because he fights for the people," she said softly. "My mother's life was spared in Firenze because of his work against Savonarola; he saved Lorenzo de' Medici when my father was a child. He... he could make it all better, make everything mean something."

Ezio left the conversation and gave the Florentine diplomat a pointed look.

"Rhetoric," he scoffed. "What would she do when confronted with a Borgia guard? She would bow down like the sheep she is, like people all are."

"But who better to fight the Borgia than those most deeply invested in their defeat? Look at the men Bartolomeo hires, he-"

"Mercenaries are hardly a tool to measure anything," Machiavelli said, spitting on the ground. "Bartolomeo is the exception to the rule, I acknowledge that, but mercenaries are men who fight for gold, and they must never be trusted."

Ezio shook his head. "Then you have not met the men he has recruited," Ezio said. "He has handpicked men whom the Borgia have wronged, the force he is creating it not one bought by gold, but sold on purpose. They want to protect their rights, and for their rights they will fight to the death. _Those_ are the kind of people the Brotherhood needs. _Those_ are the people who will stay long after they have gotten their way."

Machiavelli shook his head, still adamant. "Consider the type of person you are talking about Ezio: who is most disenfranchised in Italia? The poor, the destitute, the degenerate. You are talking about people with no meaningful skills whatsoever. They cannot read or write, they are drunkards and idiots, and they would not be able to do what was necessary if their life depended on it."

"We all have to start somewhere," Ezio pressed. "I couldn't do what was necessary either, when I was a youth. I shouted from on high what I intended to do, I could not bring myself to listen to _Zio_ Mario, and I nearly died because of it. But I learned. I have learned, over and over, and that is how I can stand here today and even suggest this."

"You would teach men to read and write, to start at the absolute bottom? How much time do you think you have? How much money? How many resources?"

"But it will be worth it," Ezio insisted.

The Florentine diplomat could only scoff. "Go then. Recruit our first novices. See how far you get." With that, he stormed off.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Whew. So much happened in this chapter.

Caterina first. The thread of "women's issues" continues with her as Ezio realized just what she has had to do in order to be the Tigress of Forli, and how _men_ do/did not have to go through what she went through. He also realized the very real possibility of what could be taken from her in 15 months of imprisonment (more on THAT in a later chapter). He also sees, at least a little, how Caterina has had to calculate her affairs. She's fond of Ezio, but she wanted his Assassins more than she wanted _him._ This will be mirrored by Ezio later in the fic. Look forward to it. ... Otherwise, we said so much last chapter about women in Rome that we won't bore you as second time.

The assault on the bridge. When we first played Brotherhood we got the serial killer trophy during this, and when all was said and done we counted something like 40+ bodies. A massacre like that is ridiculous in the real world without some kind of semi-automatic weapon, and the idea of Ezio performing slaughter like that - outside the conventions of a video game - is somewhat disturbing. There comes a point where being all badass kill-streak stops being badass. Belying the fact that Revelations reflects this in his headspace, this is a blatant break of the Creed. He deliberately drew attention to himself for the sole reason of giving one person a chance to run away. Is one person equal to 40+ in the Assassin Creed? It's a moral quandry that will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Machiavelli. Er, by this point this conversation should have been obvious, and it's not like Machiavelli doesn't have some valid points. Ezio is about to take on an enormous project that even he doesn't realize is as big as it is. But, then, like Ezio says. It's totally worth it. More on that next chapter.

Next chapter: Novices. Lots, and lots, of Novices.

PS. Where did all our regular reviewers go...? We miss you...!

PPS. To the men who reviewed/PMed to our big feminist author's notes last chapter: Thank you. Thank you for your insight, your thought provoking opinions, your encouragement, and most of all thank you for your sensitivity to an issue that is very touchy. To the boys who reviewed/PMed: Wow. There are no words.


	8. Novices

**FYI: **Though nobody seems to have noticed (or cared?) we're deeply sorry that we missed last weeks update. After surviving hurricanes, superstorms, blizzards, snow-tobers, days without power, the thing that makes us miss an update? Our harddrive crashed. We've lost several months of data - including the ACB master document. This week will be spent recovering files, but things SHOULD be back to normal.

Back you your normally scheduled chapter.

**Part Eight: Novices**

Ezio did not dismiss Machiavelli's concerns out of hand - tempting though it was. His fellow Florentine did have a point in terms of preparation, and Ezio met with his two bankers assessing how much money he could afford to invest. One long night was spent making lists: food, outfitting, bedding, weapons. The warehouse had enough rooms, but there was furniture to take into account, setting aside room for an armory, a bigger library than the pitiful number of books he had. There was also the time it took to train them. Practical skills he could siphon out: Bartolomeo and Volpe already trained recruits all the time, blending his into their crowds wouldn't take much work. That still left him the lion's share of work, however: teaching them invisibility, posture, projection – that on top of any basic reading and writing that was so often necessary, general strategy, diplomacy, rhetoric, and whatever else may be necessary. Could he have his apprentices help? No, not yet, some of them needed more life experiences before they could pass on what they learned.

All of this had to be scheduled with the other plans Ezio was making. His purse would be tight, but he could make his investments for his businesses, and if he played his cards right he could finally open a tailoring shop for Arianna if she was recovered enough, and maybe by the end of the year he could buy out another business. He had a thought on Borgia towers, but if he really was going to recruit the people, that would have to be held off until his recruits, his "novices" were trained enough to do what he wanted. If he got enough, maybe he could patrol the countryside, keep an eye out for the Followers of Romulus and trace them back to the papacy, take out their central contact. Machiavelli still had not deciphered the letter, and he had gotten little information from the man at the Colosseo. And still, he had to be ready for any opportunity that arrived; if Cesare came back to Rome, Ezio was determined not to let the chance slip by him again.

"_Zio_ 'zio!"

The master assassin looked up from his lists. "Federica?"

The twelve-year-old darted up to the desk, Claudia trailing behind.

"Claudia."

"Ezio."

It was, perhaps, the most civil they were going to get with each other. "What is Federica doing here?"

"I'm here for Mother's training," the girl answered.

"You... what?"

"Mother says I'm bright enough to be here," Federica said, her gaze suddenly flattening. "_You_ don't get a say in the matter, because _you_ don't understand what I'm doing."

Ezio looked over his niece to level a severe glare at Claudia, her eyes just as heated. Pursing his lips and rubbing his beard, he finally sighed. "Fine. If you are bright enough to be here, then you are bright enough to find the _Contessa_ and ask her to join us."

"... _Contessa_?" Federica frowned. A flick of his eyes brought Varzi out from the shadows to take the girl away and meet with Caterina. Perhaps it would do the Tigress good. As soon as they were gone Ezio leveled his heated gaze back at his sister.

"You have no right to bring her here," he hissed.

"I have _every_ right," Claudia hissed back. "She _should_ know what's going on around her. _I_ never did."

"I sent you a letter every week when I was away."

"And you really think a few pleasantries is enough, the random hint about what you were doing, who you were meeting, who you were _fornicating_?" Claudia leaned in, placing her palms on the desk and going almost nose to nose to her brother. "Do you know what the most important letter you ever sent was? The one where you talked about Father and Federico and Petruccio. You wrote _so much_ in that letter: the stories and the memories and the thoughts. I felt like I knew you for the first time in years. _Years_, Ezio, and you're my _brother_. I shouldn't have had to wait that long!"

"Claudia..."

"Ezio Auditore!"

The siblings jerked away from each other, Ezio standing to greet Bartolomeo and his wife Pantasilea, Volpe trailing behind.

"It's good that you got me when you did, another week and I'm off to the field. My men are ready to bring the fight to the Borgia."

"Alright," Ezio said, nodding. "I have a few things to tell all of you."

For the next hour Ezio outlined what had happened in the Castel Sant'Angelo, Caterina and Federica joining partway through before the apprentices spirited Federica away per Ezio's glance. Everyone mourned the missed opportunity, but Ezio deflected it quickly. "I have a plan to deal with the Borgia."

"Good," Bartolomeo said. "We could use one."

"Cesare is focused on his conquests elsewhere," Ezio said, rolling out a map of central Italy. "The Aragon are weakened, leaving Napoli vulnerable, and the French are unlikely to let such an opportunity like that go, especially with Milan under their control. The Spanish also have claim on Napoli, so Cesare is going to have his hands full for quite some time. Knowing that, what is the one area that he is leaving vulnerable?"

Everyone studied the map, not quite sure what Ezio was implying, before Pantasilea picked it out. "Roma."

"Exactly. While he is out in the countryside, he has left his home unprotected. He assumes that his father the pope can handle the city, but the Spaniard is an old man, no matter how wily he is, and cannot do much outside of the Vatican."

"You are forgetting Lucrezia," Claudia said.

"She won't be a problem," Caterina said in a cold voice. "She is shallow, vain, petty, and jealous. Her life is doomed to be miserable and lonely. Her only use is her vagina being sold off to the most powerful man they can find."

"The only use they'll let her be," Claudia corrected. The two women shared a brief look, nodding to each other. Ezio lingered on it in utter confusion before shaking his head and moving on. "Because Roma is essentially unguarded, we can use this to build up a force of our own."

Volpe became very alert. "You want to expand the Brotherhood?"

"_Si_," Ezio said, pointing to Rome on the map. "Monteriggioni was a deep blow to us," he said, his voice only giving a hint of the emotion that welled up at the very mention of the name. "We learned that our numbers can't match up to the power the Borgia can amass, and we lost... we lost _Zio _Mario." The moment hung, everyone silent, before Ezio continued. "It would be unreasonable to think we could amass power for power; and besides that, doing so proves the Templar's point. Instead, I want to recruit some very select people, people disenfranchised by the Borgia and have lost everything, people who have no other option than to fight, and refine them into a weapon we can use and point them at their true enemies: the Borgia."

"That would take a lot of time."

"And a lot of money."

And from there, Ezio explained how he planned on sharing the duties. Volpe immediately snatched up the idea, as did Bartolomeo, and it wasn't long before everyone agreed on the outline Ezio had created – with one small change.

"You've put too much work on yourself," Claudia said, listening to the plan. "You can't teach them how to be invisible _and_ have time for the more intellectual needs you have to meet. I'll do it."

"Do what?"

"Teach them invisibility. I've already been teaching my girls, so it won't be much of a change. It also teaches them how to think on their feet, same as Volpe and Bartolomeo, and if they cycle through all three of us, their minds should be malleable enough to handle whatever you throw at them. And Ezio," she added, her voice turning much harder, "If you're stupid enough to say no to this you won't have _access_ to my girls, do you understand?"

And Ezio was forced to capitulate.

"You said you wanted to point your new novices at the Borgia," Machiavelli, quiet up until then, said. He still looked as incredulous as before, and he kept his chair a little apart from the others. "How to you plan to use them? We can either go after supplies or Cesare's followers."

"My plan is to attack both. If we cut off his funds, Cesare will lose his army and return without his men. So, I ask you, where does he get his money? Volpe?"

The master thief leaned back in his chair, fingering his chin. "Agostino Chigi is the Pope's money-lender, but Cesare does business with someone else. As of now, all we know is that he is called The Banker."

Claudia perked. "There are a lot of people called The Banker. Many people come in and complain, but you can tell they're talking about different bankers. I should be able to figure it out with enough time. I know nothing if not money."

In that, at least, she was right, though Ezio was loathe to admit it. "_Bene_," he said simply.

Machiavelli continued, "French soldiers are guarding the road back into the _castello_. Once Cesare arrives, you will never get to him."

"I intend to kill the French general. With him dead, Bartolomeo will have the Frenchmen on the defense and they will abandon their posts on the bridge."

"Not just the bridge," Bartolomeo said with enthusiasm. "I'll have those French sissies crying like the weeping vaginas they are and rushing back to their ass-ugly king and begging to leave Italia alone."

"Even with those troops gone, the Papal Guard will continue to protect the inner gate," Caterina said.

"There is a side entrance," Volpe countered. "Lucrezia's playthings have keys."

"She had one at the _castello_," Ezio said, frowning. "An actor, I didn't catch his name."

"Come see me later. I will have my thieves ascertain his location."

"_Bene._ Is there anything else we need?"

* * *

Four men on his list: The Banker, the French general, Cesare Borgia, and Rodrigo Borgia.

Better than his original list when his journey started, but that was relative. With the ultimate goal in mind, he moved on to the next step, and because of that he went to the house of the woman who lost her fiancé. She was out and about the city again, gathering produce. Her basket was full of fresh baked bread, echoing memories of Ezio's childhood, as she rounded a corner and bumped into two city guards.

"_Puttana_, what do you think you're doing?" one of the guards demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," she said quickly, dipping down to collect her soiled foodstuffs.

"Nothing my ass, you owe us, now, _puttana_."

Ezio watched the girl still, looking up with wide eyes. The master assassin could see the lust in the two men, see the tightening of their pants. Were they going to...?

One of them grabbed her arm, yanking her harshly to her feet and ripping off her sleeve. Ezio's blood boiled at the sight, but before he could even extend his hidden blade the young woman shrieked so loudly everyone on the street turned to see what the matter was. She twisted and turned, managing to wrench herself out of their grip and grabbing the first thing she could get her hands on – her basket – and swing it at the guards, the tightly woven material broke uselessly against the head, but she followed up her first failed attempt with a viscous kick upwards, trying to strike between the legs. It made contact, giving the first guard a high pitched yelp while the second guard grabbed her shoulder and threw her to the wall. She would have none of that, however, as her head banged against the facade; she reached out blindly again – this time gripping a pot from a stand and swinging it. The guard batted it away, but Ezio had closed the distance. One efficient thrust of his hidden blade in the back, up and into a lung with a twist. After that he strode to the first guard, still clutching his delicates and cleanly sliced his throat.

The woman looked up in awe, her eyes tripling in size as she recognized him. "... _Assassino_!"

The moment was upon him, and Ezio suddenly wondered what to say. In the end, he kept it straightforward: "The liberation of Roma has begun. If you choose to flee, do so now, but if you choose to fight, stand with me against the Borgia."

The woman had two tears slide down her cheeks before bowing her head. "I am tired of hiding in the shadows," she whispered. "I will join you."

Ezio guided her to her feet. "Then seek Niccolò Machiavelli on Isola Tiberina and we will make you one of us. Their lies will no longer mask your truth."

"_Si.. si, Maestro... Grazie a Dio..._"

Ezio followed her discretely back to her house, nodding that she arrived safely, and backtracked to the island. He signaled Enu, always watching from the roofs, to let him know that a recruit was coming.

And so he began recruiting. Ezio would sneak out into the city and peruse the people, listening to conversations and heralds, avoiding horribly off-key minstrels. He focused his final choices on people who were pushed past the brink, picking out people who had suffered tragedies on the same level he had suffered at the hands of the Borgia, hoping to single out some intangible quality that would mean he had made the right choice. His eagle offered him little insight; he had nothing other than his own deductions to pick. He was... responsible for this. More than anything else he had done, he knew that any result of this, victory or death, would fall at his feet, because he _chose_ these people.

The weight of it was heavy, and it did not take long for his dreams to grow dark. The slaughter he had committed at the bridge now filled with the bodies of his novices, the attack on Monteriggioni was littered with the new faces he had just taken under his wing, his own father asking what was wrong with him to bring in more people to die. He woke with a bitter taste in his mouth for the entire month of July, but he could not stop what he had started.

He gave them a choice: run or join. _They_ were the ones who chose, and he had to console himself with that fact.

It didn't, but he kept telling himself it would.

For the first month, he accumulated upwards of a dozen novices – more than he even thought possible. Several brought whatever money they had to donate to their newfound cause, and while he did not _quite_ clean out his accounts (again) furnishing, equipping, and outfitting them, he knew he could literally afford no more. Arianna, though she did not have a shop in which to work, was thrilled to help outfit the novices. He discretely brought her to the hideout, and when she realized there were both men and women, a fresh set of hysterics possessed her. "Men and women... it's just like my brother and I!" she lamented. "To share the responsibility! Oh, _Ser_ Ezio, it will be my best work, I promise!"

While the clothes were being made, Ezio spent the month assessing what his new novices knew. Three of the dozen _sort of_ knew how to read and write, those that came from merchant families, but most were day laborers or bakers or otherwise not meant to do more than the most basic scripting. One, however, was a scrivener, and Ezio abused the man's knowledge to get them all to write legibly enough to pass a few basic jobs. Two were openly dimwitted, slow to understand the basic politics of what they were planning on doing, let alone the intricacies of the papal courts or senates. Nobody knew a second language, making Enu busy overnight even as he kept teaching Ezio and the other apprentices Turkish. One was mute, tongue cut out because of the Borgia. Three came from the other guilds: Claudia, Bartolomeo, and Volpe; each highly recommended and highly skilled in their respective abilities. The stratification of their backgrounds and skills, as well as their expectations of what they were going to do or their potential to do it, left Ezio slightly dizzy with how much he had to do.

This did not get into the ones who were stubborn.

That month left Ezio exhausted for reasons that had little to do with physical activity; he wasn't sure he had _ever_ used his mind quite so much to problem solve. He found himself wondering what sort of troubles he had put his own uncle through during his training.

His two favorite words became delegation and differentiation. The scrivener and Enu worked together on language and reading, the merchants taught the numbers, the courtesan taught the politics (and that was a find Ezio had not expected in the _least_), the thief taught assessment, and the mercenary taught formation and tactics. The novices were shocked to learn they would be teachers as well as students, and having even that much power sent some of them to tears. "I've never been trusted to do _anything_ important," one of them told Ezio one night. "It means so much to me...!" While they were teaching each other, Ezio tried to zero in on their best skills so that he could specialize them. The two dimwits, for example, could not be used as spies, but one was a skilled runner and the other was obnoxiously strong, and so Ezio decided one to be a messenger and the other a _condottiero_. The mute made the perfect spy with the right cover; all the women had a natural talent for poison, and three had a robust enough skill set to be given hidden blades further down the road.

Seeing these possibilities made Ezio begin to split the dozen up into teams, and by the end of those four weeks, he sent them off to different guilds. They would go through all three in rotations, he wanted them to absorb as many skills as possible even if they wouldn't use it; the exposure wouldn't hurt and it might give further insight into what Ezio could do with them.

Once they were off for their training by Bartolomeo and the others, he sent letters out to the other assassins, updating them on what he was doing, asking humbly for advice in training novices and offering his currently meager services if anyone had need of him. It was the middle of August, and after six weeks of recuperation, Caterina had use of her leg and at least some of her spirit back.

So it was with great surprise, then, when he looked for her about the hideout and found her nowhere to be seen.

He found her an hour later, outside, saddling a horse at Salvatore's.

"... Where are you going?"

Caterina looked at him from the other side of the horse, her face tight and thoughtful, before it darkened. "I am of no use to anyone without Forlì. I leave to be with my children and await the restoration of my lands. Until then I am only a hindrance."

He could not deny the pang in his heart for her sake. "I wish you would stay," he said softly.

She smiled, soft and wistful and slightly sad; but then she pulled out a stronger face, more commanding and like the Tigress she had been named. "You are the leader of the Assassins now," she said. "Unite them, Ezio Auditore, and take back Roma." She mounted, skirts and all, and took a moment to get the horse under her control. Caterina looked down at Ezio, several things flitting over her face, before nodding her head. And Ezio understood, nodding back.

Digging her heels into her mount, Caterina pushed the horse into a stiff trod, pumping her fist high in the air.

"Victory to the Assassins!"

Heads turned at the odd phrase, citizens uncertain where it had come from, and Ezio watched the redhead ride over the bridge and away. He watched for a long, long time after she disappeared.

"Victory to the Assassins," he whispered, bidding her a final farewell.

They never met again after that.

* * *

Before sending the novices out to get training, Ezio pulled them all aside to set forth some basic rules. To all the women, he told them that they were going to have to get used to Bartolomeo's tongue. The mercenary wouldn't even censor himself around his wife and children, so they should expect to hear harsh language that would likely make them blush. To the men he told them, in no uncertain terms, that if they treated Claudia or her girls in anything other than professional courtesy, he'd have to deal with it _personally_. All of them were told to listen to their teachers, whether it was La Volpe, Bartolomeo, Claudia, or each other as they continued to learn how to read, write, numbers, and the politics of Italia. Three of his apprentices were added to those departing, one for each group as it would make the rounds of training, leaving Ezio with only Vecellio and Enu as free aides. He quickly sent them out to the countryside to start investigating the Followers of Romulus, the Cento Occhi, and to find Borgia towers that the novices would use to test their skills.

Once all of that was settled, he sent one group to Volpe and one to Bartolomeo. The small quartet getting instructions from Claudia would stay at the warehouse, since it wasn't that far away, and it gave Ezio the opportunity to keep instructing them on the details that were unique to the Assassins. As Claudia taught them stealth and blending into crowds, how to distract and how to slip around in plain sight, Ezio taught them how to kill. Etienne had made them all hidden blades and Ezio had to admit to being impressed with Etienne's skill. When his group of novices came home each night, tired from Claudia's instructions, Ezio showed them the places of the human body that the hidden blade could penetrate with ease. He drilled them on how to stab through necks, armpits, stomachs - where the chinks of any armor were and how to use it.

The novices were exhausted each day. And they woke up every morning and eagerly begged for more.

As September began, Ezio noted that this group caught on quickly. This wasn't entirely surprising, as Filippo, Gilberto's recommended thief, and Taddeo, Bartolomeo's recommended mercenary were inspiring the other two to catch up quickly. Vittoria, the first recruit Ezio had brought in was an adept learner and highly motivated to learn more after the suffering she'd endured. The scrivener Gaspare also caught on quickly, at least with the theory. In practice he didn't have the muscle memory for a lot of what was being taught, but he kept going over his scrolls and books and tried applying anything he could to improve.

However, September also started to bring in responses from the letters he'd sent out before. While letters from the Assassins in other Italian cities mostly offered suggestions for training and what to focus on, the letter from Venice did not. Antonio, who also ran the thieves' guild in the canal city, wrote that the Doge, Agostino Barbarigo, was reverting to the Templar ways of his family. Ezio let out a long sigh when he read that. When he'd been spending time in Venice, trying to hunt down those who had killed his father and brothers, he'd had to take out a number of the Barbarigo family, but Agostino had been an ally, doing what he could once he became Doge. To see that he had switched sides was a sad disappointment. So Ezio wrote a letter to Varzi and her little group of training novices. The Doge was a highly protected leader, especially after Ezio had killed the previous Doge, Agostino's brother. Plus, Ezio did not think his apprentice or his novices were anywhere near ready to deal with the army of guards that would protect the Doge. But Varzi's knack with poison presented a different alternative, and he outlined his plan to her. It would be practical experience for the novices, and Antonio would likely have his own ways of training them when they arrived so that Varzi could carry out her mission.

But that wasn't the only mission.

One cool September day, Ezio arrived at the Rosa in Fiore, seeking his novices. Instead, Claudia was waiting for him in the lobby. She took him to her private office and they sat down. "I have a little mission for your novices," she said.

"Oh?"

Claudia gave him a sly smile. "Oh yes. There are some ambassadors here that are getting a little too close that Spaniard."

"How many?"

"Four."

Ezio leaned back and smiled. That would be ideal. Thus far, for all that he could teach the theory of how to kill, teach the practice with a straw dummy, it was something else entirely to actually take another life. Ezio's first kill had been his messiest. The Gonfaloniere Uberto Alberti who had ordered the deaths of half of Ezio's family had been brutal, rushed, and ultimately showed Ezio's complete inexperience. And after was difficult when it came to admitting that he'd killed someone and then living with it, no matter how the Gonfaloniere had deserved it.

He didn't want his novices to go through that.

Claudia seemed to have read his mind on this, and provided the perfect opportunity to give a first kill to these novices that would both further their war with the Borgia and also break in the novices in a kinder fashion, with Ezio there to support them.

"I'll take care of it."

So, a week later, Ezio was walking the streets with one of his novices, Taddeo. The hulking man still had some difficulty in staying hidden in the crowds, mostly due to his height, but he did a passable job. Ezio quietly advised him to stoop to hide better as they walked the streets through the richer section of Roma. When they reached the Mausoleo di Augusto, Ezio's sharp eyes spotted Lucia, lingering in a corner, and unnoticed by the crowds as they went about their business.

Ezio and Taddeo walked over and Lucia smiled. "_Maestro_," she greeted. "I have set up the first ambassador. He is currently shopping for an expensive trinket for me," she gestured to a stand set up where necklaces were hanging on display, the merchant barking out deals and offers as an expensively dressed man in more Grecian fashion studied the various bits of jewelry.

Ezio turned to his novice. "And how will you go about this?"

"Kill him," Taddeo replied.

"How?"

Taddeo reached for his sword, which Ezio firmly stopped, slipping the sword away with the skill of a master thief. The former mercenary scowled, but that was what Ezio needed. For this novice to start thinking like an assassin instead of a mercenary. Taddeo flexed his wrist, extending his hidden blade, and Ezio nodded. "And how do you do this without being caught?"

That brought up Taddeo short and Ezio held back a sigh. The mercenary was a good fighter, but he was proving to be lacking in forethought. It took both himself and Lucia asking questions and guiding Taddeo until there was a workable plan. From there, Ezio stood back and blended into the crowds and watched. The mercenary walked by, and the drills Ezio had been teaching on the hidden blade took over, much as Bartolomeo's drills in fighting took over in battle, and Taddeo was able to do a silent kill, being well away when the ambassador finally fell. The guards quickly started investigating and when Taddeo returned to where Ezio and Lucia had been, he found himself alone and having to head back to the warehouse on his own. Ezio watched over him from the roofs, observing to see if Claudia's lessons were getting through.

It seemed his novice was passing his first test.

Arriving back at the Tiber, Ezio appeared next to Taddeo, a silent steady presence.

"That was... different," the former mercenary said. "I've killed before, I know how, but, this was... just different."

Ezio nodded. "To kill in the heat of emotion or battle, there is no thought, no emotion, just survival. To choose to kill, to go out and decide someone must die and to then do so, is not the same."

Taddeo said nothing, looking up to the sky.

It was a few days later when Ezio took out Filippo, the thief Gilberto had sent with high recommendations. Ezio had noted that Filippo was taking to Claudia's lessons in hiding in plain sight like a fish might swim. No doubt his training under Volpe had included some lessons in hiding, but thieves were far more likely to run away and lose their pursuers than simply evade them out in the open. Filippo picked at his clothes, the fine stitching of Arianna clearly better than the rags he tended to wear as a thief, uncomfortable with the fact that he could blend into the crowds, even if he did so quite well. The ex-thief was looking to the roofs longingly, and Ezio advised him as they walked how the guards up on the roofs were better shots than at night.

Lucia met them at the Pantheon, the massive columns a pinnacle of human achievement, the massive church dominating the square, her eyes glued to the crowd.

"He is late," she said softly. "I was to meet him here an hour ago. I haven't been able to get him alone and in the open."

"We'll improvise," Ezio replied. "You find him, we'll follow from the rooftops."

Filippo let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief, and they quickly ascended while Lucia slipped into the packed crowds to look for the target. Ezio focused on looking for the ambassador and switched to his Eagle Vision, but there wasn't any flicker of gold. He didn't know enough of who he was tracking to see him, but he did see the solid white of Lucia, their ally. They stayed on the roofs, following Lucia around the large square in front of the ancient church.

It was almost an hour later when Lucia was firmly latched onto the arm of someone, giggling and cooing. "You see him," Ezio whispered from a flower trellis in a shaded alley where he and Filippo were avoiding a guard on the roofs.

"No," Filippo squinted. "I lost track of that courtesan about ten minutes ago. I've been following you."

"We'll have to wait until she gets him isolated then," Ezio replied, switching to his Eagle Vision so as not to lose her in the crowds. He glanced back to the former thief. "She's guiding him to the edge of the crowds follow me."

Filippo's eyes had widened over something, but Ezio didn't want to waste the time to figure out why. Instead, he started leaping from trellis to beams to light posts, intent on getting closer to Lucia and their target. The former thief had no problems keeping up, and soon they were on the roofs of a more residential area, Lucia now more obvious in the less crowded street.

"Can you follow her now?" Ezio whispered to Filippo.

"Of course, _Maestro_."

"Good," Ezio smiled. "I'll stay here. You need to kill that ambassador."

"How, _Maestro_?"

Ezio's smile widened. "You figure that out for yourself. I have given you the tools, haven't I?"

Filippo nodded, looking nervous.

Ezio put his hand on the novice's shoulder and squeezed it.

With a nod, Filippo slipped down to the streets. Or rather, close to the streets. He was still on crates and beams, sticking out in the smaller crowds, but as he leapt on lampposts, fewer people looked up. He was sticking to what he knew, and Ezio shook his head, knowing that he'd have to break Filippo of that habit eventually. But for now, it was probably for the best that the former thief went with what was familiar.

Lucia and the ambassador eventually found a secluded courtyard, and Ezio watched from the roofs above. Filippo was on a lower roof, observing. Things stayed quiet for a while, as the ambassador kept flirting with the courtesan and soon her breasts were exposed as the ambassador kept working on what appeared to be a slow tease.

Ezio frowned, wondering what was taking Filippo so long, when suddenly, the former thief leapt, his hidden bladed extended as he flew through the air. Lucia saw him coming and quickly dove to the side. The ambassador was shocked still, and that was just what Filippo needed as he landed, the hidden blade biting deep into the soft flesh of the ambassador's neck.

Ezio had to admit to being impressed. That was a perfect kill, with precise aim and excellent use of the ambassador to break Filippo's descent, using the momentum to drive the blade even deeper.

Lucia was clearly startled, covering herself quickly. Her startled yelp had guards approaching and Ezio let out a whistle to get his novice moving. Filippo stiffened before jumping up over the wall of the courtyard to the busy street beyond. The guards never saw him and Lucia portrayed being traumatized with the skill of a seasoned actress, crying and wailing and clinging to the guard like her life depended on it.

It would seem Ezio had a novice that had great skills indeed. He quickly leapt off the roof into a hay cart and joined up with his talented novice. Filippo was shaking, the thrill of the kill still working its way through him and Ezio stayed close to him, offering support as they headed back.

Vittoria, the first recruit Ezio had ever found, was the next one for Ezio to test. He had known coming in that Filippo and Taddeo would do well. They had spent years training under Gilberto and Bartolomeo respectively, and had killed before, though not with such cold purpose. Vittoria, however, had not. While she was picking up skills quickly, she lacked the strength for fighting and climbing, skills she'd never even needed before. For her, the only skills she had were what Ezio and Claudia had taught her. She could hide in the crowds well, and that was the first skill an Assassin needed. Invisibility.

Ezio spent two full days with both her and the scrivener Gaspare to practice how to kill without being seen, what the best places to strike were, how to know when it was a success and to move on, and the ability to leave while seeming unaffected and unknowing of what was going on around them.

He walked with Vittoria one evening, to meet Lucia at a small tavern along the Tiber river bank.

"We have a problem," Lucia said from her table. "The last ambassador has made me known to the guards. With two clients of mine dead, the Borgia are starting to wonder."

Ezio frowned. "Are you safe?"

"The _Madonna_ has me restricted to the bordello for now as a precaution."

A slip of a girl, barely sixteen sat at their table in the blue garb of a rival bordello.

"Lia will take you to the next ambassador."

Ezio nodded his head. "We thank your _Madonna_ for loaning you to us."

Lia smiled, some of her teeth missing. "We still wish to repay you for removing the threat of Malfatto. This is but a small task."

Vittoria picked at her food nervously. Lia reached over and held her hand. "The first time is always the hardest," she said softly. "It may never get easier, but does come more naturally."

Vittoria gave a shaky nod and Ezio wondered once more if those without any training whatsoever would be good at this sort of work. But the Assassins needed more people and just taking from the underground wouldn't be sustainable.

"Then let's get going," Ezio said standing. "Shall we escort you back to the Rosa in Fiore, Lucia?"

The courtesan gave a large, honest smile. "_Maestro_, your kindness truly knows no bounds. I'll be fine."

"As you wish."

In the streets, Ezio walked drunkenly, Lia on one arm, Vittoria on the other. He laughed outrageously, and stumbled along, pulling the two with him and the crowds paid no notice.

"_Maestro_, don't you stick out by doing this?" Vittoria quietly asked after Ezio drunkenly demanded her to kiss Lia. The courtesan in blue was blushing furiously.

Ezio leaned in. "I'm looking like a fool. No one is ignored more than a drunken idiot." Then he leaned back. "Now kiss!" he slurred.

It was Vittoria's turn to blush when Lia leaned in and kissed her thoroughly.

Ezio kept them stumbling along, belting out drinking songs and asking outrageous requests of the two women on his arms as Lia guided them expertly blending into the act as she took them to an estate that boasted that important people stayed there.

Lia was recognized by the guards posted at the servant's door, and had no problem explaining that Vittoria was there at the ambassador's request.

"Isn't she over dressed," the guard asked, looking at how covered Vittoria was.

Lia stepped forward, giggling, and a shrug of a shoulder left a breast exposed, distracting the guard. "Do you _really_ want to know what we have planned tonight?" she asked throatily.

The guard stared dumbly, a lecherous smile starting to grow on his bearded face.

Then, to Ezio's surprise, Vittoria stepped up behind Lia. One arm went over the shoulder to fondle the exposed breast while the other went around her and disappeared between the folds of Lia's skirts. "I'm not sure he can handle it," Vittoria said with confidence. Lia let out a low and long moan that Ezio had to briefly wonder if it was truly fake or not.

"Er..." the guard stuttered. "The.. the man behind you..."

Vittoria squeezed Lia's breast and the courtesan let out another throaty moan. "A guard of our own," Vittoria said, nibbling at Lia's ear. "Did you not hear of the killer of courtesans that roams the streets?"

Lia let out another moan that sounded distinctly like "_further_..." before gasping.

The guard was completely flushed now, and Ezio noted that the man's pants were getting a touch tight.

"G-go on in! He waits in the stables as usual!"

Once inside, Lia straightened herself out, still incredibly flushed and Ezio wondered why. Vittoria was blushing as well, and stepping around nervously.

"I've _never_ done anything like that before," she winced.

"Blending in in plain sight," Ezio explained. "You're learning quickly."

"You could learn very _well_," Lia offered in a throaty voice. "Do come by our bordello once in a while. I could teach you a _few_ things."

Vittoria shifted nervously. The stars were shining above and Ezio motioned for them to start moving.

Ezio stayed outside the stables, as Lia and Vittoria went in. It didn't take him long to find a way up to the hayloft, and soon, he was overlooking a stall filled with hay and blankets, where the ambassador lay, naked, and sipping his wine.

Lia slipped in, her corset already off, leaving her topless. The ambassador gave an approving nod and lecherous smile. "Ah, my little flower," the man said with an accent.

"Hans," she replied, kneeling down, completely subservient. "You asked if I had any friends you could watch."

The man's grin grew. "Oh? Where is she?"

Vittoria stepped in, fully clothed, yet appearing nervous. Ezio frowned. He hoped he wouldn't have to descend, but Vittoria was looking less able, despite the promise she had shown in practice. Where was the person who had taken on Borgia guards, screaming to avoid getting raped?

The ambassador stood, his nakedness showing his excitement, as he walked over. "Another flower," he whispered. He was barely at arm's length when Vittoria surged forward, her hidden blade making the perfect strike through the ribs to the heart.

The ambassador didn't even have time to look shocked before he fell over dead. Vittoria was breathing heavily, shaking, as Lia stood and replaced her corset. They stood together for a moment, and Ezio wondered if he'd have to step in to get them to hide the body so that none would realize that Lia was likely the killer.

But then, Vittoria stood in complete stillness. Lia gave a sad little smile of regret, and Vittoria briefly wiped her eyes. "You said he has cold storage nearby?"

"Yes," Lia replied. "He likes to wait in the cold so he can appreciate my warmth."

"Let's get him there."

Ezio leapt down to help. Once the corpse was stowed away, Ezio had Lia and Vittoria join him back in the stall and just sat down. The ambassador wouldn't be discovered till daybreak and if they left so quickly, the guard at the gate would remember. It also gave him time to talk Vittoria through what had happened.

She shook and cried silently, but despite the emotions overwhelming her for actually taking a life, she held firm to the belief she had done the right thing.

For that, Ezio smiled.

For Gaspare, the eager scrivener, Ezio wondered if this was a smart idea. The young man was positively bursting with energy as they meandered the crowded streets one afternoon, and though passable at blending in, if he bounced around much more in his earnest eagerness to do his first kill, Ezio just might have to do this himself and send Gaspare back to the hideout.

"Calm _down_," he hissed.

"_Mi dispiace, Maestro_," Gaspare replied, his face attempting to look solemn but the grin was still hooking the corners of his mouth. "I'm just so excited to finally be able to _do_ something of value."

Frustrated, Ezio lightly cuffed the young man on the head. "If you wish to do something of value, you have to do it _right_ or you won't do it at all."

"Of course, _Maestro_."

They entered the Rosa in Fiore, where Lucia was still in hiding. The courtesan met them in her room, where she was just dressing after likely seeing a client. "Ah, _Maestro_. As you know, I can't lead you to the last one. But he's easy to find. He is always at a particular tavern for a midday repast. Deviating from this schedule is paramount to a sin for him. Even if it means cutting short a session."

"Then we'll be on our way."

Back on the streets Gaspare was still eagerly vibrating next to him. Ezio rubbed his brow and sighed.

"I'm sorry, _Maestro_. I'm trying. I really am."

It made for a long walk to the tavern.

The tavern was on the Tiber, and across from the Vatican. Ezio took Gaspare to a corner table, ordering a small meal for them. When the former scrivener wondered why they weren't finding shadows to hide in, Ezio let out a long sigh and explained, again, about hiding in plain sight. By being out in the open like this, they were just a pair getting lunch, like everyone else who was starting to filter in. By being obvious about their hiding, they'd be drawing attention to themselves, which was the _opposite_ of what they wanted.

Gaspare nodded, but Ezio wasn't sure this eager mind understood.

Instead, he diverted Gaspare from thinking about what they were here to do. "Tell me about some of those books you've copied."

The novice lit up, eager to talk about what he'd read and what it meant and what he'd learned.

They stayed at their table for a half-hour, chatting amiably about good books and why they were good. Ezio had to admit, he'd missed having the time to read like he did when he was still a boy. Nothing could fire the imagination like a good book, stories of adventure and discovery, but Ezio had lacked to time to read when he had so many lists that were running around in his head.

Gaspare was distracted by the conversation, but Ezio kept an eye on the door. He was paying through the nose to eat here, and it paid off when a man in clothes more befitting Portugal stepped in. The ambassador had arrived.

Ezio glanced at the novice and flicked his eyes to the ambassador as he was escorted to what was likely his usual table. Despite not noticing the arrival, Gaspare did notice Ezio's look and quickly glanced over to their target.

"Keep talking," Ezio whispered. "Don't become an odd sight."

So Gaspare picked up where he left off, talking about his favorite books.

The ambassador ate alone, the server not even talking as food was brought. Clearly this was a ritual that was known and followed strictly. The two studied the target discreetly from their table and Ezio finally asked how Gaspare intended to do this.

The eager energy had returned. "Spill something on me. It's an excuse to get up and head out back to clean up. I'll pass his table."

Ezio narrowed his eyes. "But you won't have the reach-"

But it was too late. Gaspare had already spilled his wine on himself, staggering out of his chair and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe futilely at his pants.

That eager pup. This wasn't going to work. Everyone was going to see him reach over to kill the ambassador. Ezio quickly reached into his wallet and pulled out a fistful of coins, letting them clatter loudly to the floor.

"I know that sound."

"Money!"

"Hey that's mine!"

"Back off!"

Ezio's table was soon mobbed as the people of the crowded restaurant tried to pile over each other to find and pick up the coins. It was a spectacle that gave Gaspare the distraction needed to lean quickly over the table and kill the ambassador. Ezio slipped through the crowds and grabbed Gaspare by the arm, almost dragging him out through the back and out to the streets.

"_Porca puttana_."

It was going to be a long walk back to the hideout for Gaspare.

That night, Ezio gathered his novices and the one apprentice who was helping him teach them, and sat around the fire. Once they were all comfortable, he talked about the first time he'd ever killed anyone in cold blood, which came shortly after killing someone for the first time when he'd defended his dear friend Leonardo da Vinci. He talked about the confusing feelings of killing, how it wasn't easy, how it would never be easy, how he avoided it where he could but the costs that came from making the choice.

Slowly, they each shared their experiences, and the all talked late into the night.

* * *

"Okay, Desmond. Get up slowly."

Ezio sat up slowly, wondering briefly why Lucy was speaking _in English but knowing it shouldn't be a question and his apprentices were pr_oving to be quite a handful but rewarding at the same time Shaun was poking through a bo_ok muttering under his breath but Gaspare was so enthu_siastic it would get him killed one say and why was he always ma_king time for Sancia where was he L_ucy was stepping forward, eyes worried and...

Ezio blinked slowly.

"Desmond?" Lucy asked, kneeling down and placing a hand on his knee.

He blinked several times, but _Desmond_ shook his head and put his hand over hers. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's getting hard, being pulled out."

Lucy nodded, looking away with a tight look on her face, before she pushed herself back to her feet and offered her hand. Desmond took it and she helped him up. He swayed on his feet, slightly, head spinning before he could adjust.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked, more concerned now.

"Yeah, I guess," Desmond replied, rubbing the back of his neck. His stomach felt empty, and he looked up to the skylight to realize it was dark. The days were starting to get shorter. "We going to get any food in here?"

Lucy looked over at Ezi—Desmond. "People who don't work, don't eat..."

Wait... _what_?

When did _this_ start? Was there a meeting when Desmond wasn't paying attention, did they not have enough flor_ins to keep eating, did Ezio need to cut his diet again to ma_ke ends meet or...

Lucy burst out laughing. "I'm kidding!" she said, getting a hold of herself. Desmond kept staring at her, and her amusement turned to concern. "You knew I was kidding, right?"

"Riiight," Shaun said from his station, apparently he had been staring too. "Smile and nod," he said, "Just smile and nod and pretend that we're not all a bunch of crazies."

"Someone just volunteered to get the food," Lucy said, going back to her clipboard.

The British historian smirked. "It was worth it," he said, "I'll let Rebecca know you've just extended her shift, yeah?"

He disappeared up the stairs, and E—_Desmond_ realized he was alone with Lucy in the Sanctuary. She smiled at him briefly before adjusting her clipboard and writing something down. She still had her old Abstergo pen, taking notes on what supplies they did have and then flipping to a page that seemed to be filled with technical readouts. The project she and Rebecca had started? Desmond leaned over. "It's Greek to me," he said softly, getting lost in all the schematics. "How are you holding up?"

Lucy's pen paused, and Desmond's eyes caught her staring off to nowhere, eyes moist and lost in thought, before she shook her head. "Sometimes I feel so disconnected from everything out there. Nearly a decade of my life gone, searching for those Pieces of Eden..."

Stress again. Desmond couldn't blame her. "Think how great you'll feel when we finally stop the Templars," he said, putting a hand to her shoulder and squeezing.

"I'm not sure it will ever end, Desmond. I can't do this forever."

Desmond smil_ed slightly; he hoped to cheer up Caterina and reac_hed up with his free hand to tilt her chin to look at him. "I can't buy it," he said. "The Lucy I know brought me here and taught me how to see. She would never give up. She would say," and he raised his hand, folding in his ring finger as she had done during his capture, "to 'have a little faith.' "

The blond smiled, just a twitch of the lips. "I guess I trained you well, huh?"

"You did alright."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them changing, something shifting. Desmond knew wh_at he felt, the attra_ction that bur_ned beyond his loin_s, and for the first time, he saw something in Lucy, too, a spark in her eyes. Maybe... maybe...

"Hey Lucy, how'd the inventory go?"

The pair broke apart immediately, Lucy clutching her clipboard to her chest as her cheeks turned bright pink, Desmond walking back towards Altair's statue, coughing awkwardly and flipping into a handstand to get exercising. If Rebecca saw anything she didn't say anything, and Desmond lost himself in his workout, hanging off of statues to buil_d up his arms very carefully, he didn't want Dante to be mad at him after the abuse they took during Ca_terina's rescue. Ezio was even _hungrier_ by the time Shaun returned, and the Florentine bartender was happy to grab his burger.

"Lucy," Shaun said with some aplomb. "I regret to inform you I will no longer be able to trek into town for the foreseeable future. I'll spare you the gory details but suffice to say an exchange of words, hand gesture and grunts with a large Italian fellow have made it clear to me he plans to murder your favorite male co-worker on sight. I am truly sorry for any inconvenience this might cause. Anger of the Italian Apes, and all that."

The blond leveled a flat gaze at Shaun. "You're still going in when it's your turn." Then she offered a sweet smile. "If you need me to hold your hand and protect you from the big man just ask."

"Fine," Shaun said, scoffing and making other disapproving noises. "But when the brute eats my pancreas you'll be without a lead data manager... I hope you plan an expensive funeral, it's the very least you could do with all that _I_ do for you."

"Sure," Lucy said, back to deadpan. "I'll use rocks for the pillow."

Desmond took a big bite of his burger.

"Carnivore!" Rebecca interjected, pulling open the wrapper on her veggie burger while Lucy and Shaun also began digging into the plethora of takeout.

"Hypocrite!" Shaun replied, taking an enormous bite out of his burger before continuing with a half full mouth. "Did you know plants give off chemicals which attract predatory insects when they're attacked? Sounds pretty animal-like to me."

Rebecca stared at him. "Of all the random shit that's in your head you pick _that_ to talk about? You know too much for your own good."

Shaun shrugged, unapologetic. "That's what my priest used to say."

"I bet he said a lot more."

"Confession is private, last I checked."

"Yeah, private sex booths."

"I'm a _Protestant,_ not a Catholic."

"That's what they all say."

Lucy and Desmond both saw the degeneration that was about to unfold, and Lucy quickly intervened. "How's the power situation?"

Rebecca savored her veggie burger a moment, sipping her bottled water, before answering. "It's okay for now, but the power lines are from the stone age."

"Bloody third world country," Shaun muttered, sipping his tea.

"You're talking about Italy?" the tech asked.

"No, Europe in general."

The three Americans all looked at each other. Rebecca, of course, pressed the point. "I didn't know England is a third world country."

The Brit actually managed to look offended with his mouth full. "England is _not_ in Europe actually, Rebecca. We tolerate Europe... You know, like a person tolerates _herpes_."

"Wow, elitist much?"

"Like we didn't already know that," Lucy interjected. She gulped down some more water as everyone kept eating. She must have had her dinner in three bites. Desmond balked at the speed. "I want to check out the power grid, make sure 'herpes' isn't having an outbreak." Her beautiful ass swung up the stairs, a few loose strands of hair trailing behind her, and Desmond watched for a long time, enjoying the view and wondering... just wondering. She needed to loosen up. She needed less stress. Desmond wondered what he could do to help her in that regard. He didn't know enough about engineering to help with the Animus redesign and... Wait...

He turned to Rebecca again.

"How did you manage to create a copy of the Animus?"

She waved it off. "Oh, you know. Lucy sent me schematics."

"I thought she couldn't get anything out of Abstergo?"

"She had her ways," Rebecca said, shrugging. "I improvised on the rest."

… Huh. Lucy was completely closed off but she had managed to get the _Animus schematics_ to Rebecca? _And_ the emails to the outside to arrange the failed escape attempt, _and _leak some of the info Abstergo had to the Assassins. Just how closed off was she? How big of a risk had she taken? He glanced to her clipboard, and her Abstergo pen. No wonder she was under so much stress.

Frowning, he finished eating and went up the stairs, past the odd equilateral trian_gle Ezio had mar_ked with hidden years and in_to Mario's st_udy. He peeked out the doorframe, knowing he couldn't be above ground for long, and saw Lucy standing in the courtyard, looking up at the hazy moon. The air was cooler up here, summer slowly dying to autumn and a stiff breeze indicating a cold front playing with her blond hair. She looked beautiful, but also so very, very lonely. He moved to join her when she turned and saw him.

"Desmond! What are you doing up here?" she demanded, power-walking over to him.

"I just... You were..."

"You're _not _supposed to be above ground," she insisted, "What if someone saw you, what if cell surveillance saw you?"

"I'm sorry, hey, I'm _sorry_," he said, backing up into the study. "You looked so lonely and I thought..."

His comment brought her to a complete halt, eyes wide as the words sunk in, her cheeks flushing. At length, she sighed and held her temples. "Just... don't do that again," she said softly.

"Okay," he answered, just as softly, "I won't.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

* * *

_Caterina was never se_en again hardly wrote few letters need to send more lett_ers have to let Masyaf know I'm safe in Consta_ntinople no way to get messages out of time can't wait any lon_ger need to take the opportunity that has pres_ented itself three birds one stone stoned to death brutal savagery and all for bei_ng a heretic how does one deal with appr_entice that won't learn that do_esn't understand can't under_stand Maria keeps trying to explain but it's all so bac_kwards and yet there is so much simi_larity in style was he trained by an assassin need to be careful don't want to be hit by ca_nnon fire fire everywhere hell on earth the world is broken the heart is bro_ken and _**I**_ am broken

* * *

Altair woke in unfamiliar surroundings, slow to regain consciousness. Had he been struck on the head? He could not remember, so he kept his body very still until he could understand where he was but Ezio knew these walls very well indeed and had spent much time here in the Sanctuary. He read the Codex here, looked up at the stars here, and had mourned his losses here.

No, no, _none_ of that was right.

_Desmond_ got up from his sleeping back, looking up at the statue of Altair as it looked down on him. He considered putting on another Italian drawl but just didn't have the energy for it. Rubbing his face, he moaned slightly and got to his feet, stumbling with sleep before he could properly coordinate his body. Breakfast was dry cereal; Rebecca was already at the Animus tapping away at her laptop, and Lucy was nowhere to be seen, leaving Desmond to eat with Shaun.

Thinking dimly of his inconsistent dream, trying to remember any part of it that made sense, Desmond stared at his cereal. "What happened to Caterina Sforza?" he murmured to himself.

"She went back to Florence and petitioned unsuccessfully for the return of her lands," Shaun answered, thinking the question was posed to him. "Then, she died of pneumonia."

Desmond stared at him. "... That's sad."

Shaun shrugged. "That's life. Well, that's death technically, but you take my point."

"Alright," Lucy said, coming down the steps. "If Desmond's up then we can get started. I say we go to more of Subject Sixteen's Animus locations. Shaun _should_ be caught up on his 'modern history.' Right?"

And so Desmond found himself in the white loading screen in his clothes, before spawning on Tiber, _Isola Tiberina_. He stretched out briefly, rolling his hips and getting ready for a good run. "Where to?" he asked.

"_The Pantheon_," Rebecca said. "_Due north_."

Desmond nodded, walking past the bank, wondering how Romeo or Matteo were doing, and then crossing the Sisto Bridge. With a deep breath, he burst out into a sprint and then a run, hopping up a cart and a crate and then to a light post and then up garden lattice before hoisting himself up to a roof. He could see the Pantheon rising up to the north, peeking out from the roofline, and it was a race against himself after that. To his credit, he was barely winded when he arrived, leaping from roof to roof and darting over ropes and arches and skidding to a halt as the massive stone columns rose up before him. He could see a ghost of Ezio, we_ary of his money and wondering where else he would be le_ad, but Desmond resisted the sense of nostalgia, walking around the ghost and leaping into a hay cart instead, reveling in the sensation of wind whipping through his body.

Refreshed, he gazed up at the impressive feat of Roman architecture and moved in. The church inside was breathtaking, and he could see more ghosts of Ezio, assassinating a man over a chest. He shook it off, switching to his lame eagle vision to see it bled with more colors, looking more like Ezio's. He found the rift in the Animus and moved along the edge of the wall, still seeing ghost Ezio's assassination, and leaping up the wall to find the right handholds and slowly climbing into the rift.

** Cluster 5**

"Loading... loading..." the Animus voice said. Desmond blinked at the voice started glitching again, skipping and dithering and sounding...

"Scanning... scanning...scanning... What am I? What am I? Lost."

"What the hell?" he whispered. "Did you guys hear that?"

"_Home, home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play. Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day!_"

"... Guys?" Desmond asked as the old-style cowboy music continued.

"_No idea_," Rebecca said. "_I don't even know where the file came from. Is that Gene Autry?_"

"Who? Never mind." It was another sign of Sixteen's slow tread to insanity, programming this thing, and Desmond tried not to think of his _own_ home, not on a range but in the Black Hills. Was the song always that sad?

A plethora of photos filled Desmond's vision, clues to another locked file that he had to sift through. An archway, two men standing by a car, a parade or protest of some kind, a color photo of two men Desmond thought he should know, etc. The clue read: "From a bolt of electricity, governments fell." Frowning Desmond started to scan the pictures. Bits of gobbledygook appeared over some of the pictures, text that made no sense.

"_Got it,_" Rebecca said, "_Before Shaun, I might add, victory for the computers. It's a Caesar cipher. All the text is dependent on the picture. So: 'United Fruit Company, US banks, car companies transferred their corporate debt to the Argentine public.' 'More than three thousand killed.' 'Allende was going to nationalize them.' 'September eleventh.' Happy subject, that one. Uh, 'Make the economy scream.' And, then the last one's I think a pun. EYE TEA TEE is probably ITT, which with the cipher translates to CNN._"

"Okay, but what does it all mean?" Desmond asked. "And what about these other quotes: 'H. K. masterminded it,' or 'Chile, 1964. The people cheered his name until 1973.' 'Salvador Allende wanted the people to own Chile's corporations.' 'We should like your economic program to succeed and we will do our best to help you.' 'Argentina 1970s: 30,000 people Disappeared in the raids.' Then there's this quote from Augusto Pinochet, whoever the hell he is: 'Nature shows us basic order and hierarchy are necessary.' Or, 'The issues are much too important for the Chilean voters to be left to decide for themselves.' Then we switch gears I think, to 'Mossadegh wanted oil profits to go to the people,' and 'Shah Pahlavi, Sha'baan Ja'fari and SAVAK take over to terrorize citizens and protect capitalist oil interests. But was that their only motive?' Those aren't Chilean names, or Argentinian. Just what are all these photos referencing? Or the hint about electricity?"

"_Do try to keep up Desmond,_" Shaun's voice chimed in. "_I'll try to keep this simple for you. Salvador Allende: Chilean politician, Marxist and Socialist. His political career spans nearly forty years, but the point of interest is this: as a Socialist president, he wanted Chile to nationalize their enterprises: most notably their copper mines and – get this – their banks. Leftist radical and all that. Because Allende had ties to the Communist party the US started pulling their hair out, as they often did back then when the word was thrown around. Nixon spent millions of dollars to prevent Allende's election via CIA interference, either through congressional trickery or a coup d'etat. This continued after Allende was elected, sinking money into his opponents and generally everybody was screwing around with the Chilean constitution._

_ "This came to a head in the form of a literal coup d'etat: in 1973 tanks massed on the presidential palace to take out Allende. It failed, but it started a wave of unrest that ended with strikes in the copper mines and a constitutional crisis – the Supreme Court said Allende couldn't maintain order in his own country. Other events followed, but I know you'll miss most of it; the point is that a coup was staged September Eleventh – no, Rebecca, not THAT September Eleventh – 1973, by Chilean military and he committed suicide. Augusto Pinochet took over and was the Chilean dictator until 1990. And get this, one of the major US corporations in Chile at the time was ITT: International Telephone and Telegraph. The H.K., mentioned, is probably Henry Kissinger, Nixon's Secretary of State._"

"Okay," Desmond said slowly, trying to take in the information dump.

"_Now, Mohammad Mosaddegh, he was Prime Minister of Iran, democratically elected, in the early 50s. Like Allande, he was big on nationalization – specifically oil, and we know how oils draws out the political crazies, I mean look at what you Americans are whining about today, moaning about Iran having nukes to work up the justification of invading for their oil. Sound familiar? Bush, anyone? Anyway, the Communist party agreed with Mosaddegh in nationalizing their oil industry, and with two strikes against him the US stepped in again. That Iran's oil deal was with the UK did not help matters either. Brits don't like losing their control over oil any more than Americans do, and so we turned to you for help. Churchhill – who I STILL cannot believe was a Templar – talked to a newly elected Eisenhower and lo: Operation Ajax was formed. The plan was to get the Shah, the monarch of Iran, to oust Mosaddegh. They did this through meetings and out-and-out bribery – a mink coat for the Shah's sister among other things – and planted ideas in the Iranian people that Mosaddegh was being brutal to naysayers. By the time all was said and done, the Shah had ousted Mosaddegh, riots and protests orchestrated by Americans as both pro- and anti-Shah littered the streets, and in the end one Fazlollah Zahedi was put in charge with the help of Shaban Jafari. Jafari, according to Sixteen, was a Templar. They created the SAVAK, Iranian secret police._"

More info dumping. Shaun was right, damn him, that most of the information swept right over Desmond's head, but he got the key points: Abstergo had the power to overthrow governments, and recent members included Kissinger and Jafari, and a network large enough to stage freakin' coup d'etats.

Why?

Because leaders wanted to nationalize their resources.

Desmond sighed before, in his scanning, he found a bolt of lightning with an Abstergo symbol. From a bolt of electricity indeed. He clicked on it and found another wheel lock. With the coordinates handed out from his searching, Desmond rotated the lock until he found the right combination and waited to see what file would open.

Restricted Handling

Classified Message

Subject: South America

If we are to ensure the Company's success, Company agents must be able to move freely from country to country and maintain power within all of them. A global international order must be implemented.

Re: Argentina

Tell the Capitalists that if they help ensure the Junta remain in power, we will pass all their corporate debt to the Argentine people. That will ensure they crush the popular revolt. I want the trade unions destroyed if we are to move forward.

Re: Chile

The free market must be allowed to prevail. F.'s visit last year helped things along, but now all public companies need to be sold to the private sector, ideally on the cheap. The price of bread and other staples must rise. I want to ensure the people remain marred in poverty and unable to resist.

Any traces of the plan should appear to implicate the U.S. government. The Company's involvement must remain hidden.

For successful examples of a similar opening of the markets, look no further than the 1953 liberation of Iran and the 1954 liberation of Guatemala.

"Abstergo fucked with Guatemala, too?" Desmond asked. "No, never mind, I'm getting a headache as it is." He rubbed his temples to prove the point, still trying to keep track of the other histories that had just been dumped on him. "I'll just take it on faith."

"_As you wish,_" Shaun said snidely. Prick.

"Quarantine zone," the Animus droned. Desmond started listening to the sonar, but the noise faded as he saw the words the sonar beacon showed, slowly reading the text:

"Wages should be (lowered to keep the middle class subservient to us (?)) left to the fair and free competition of the market, and should never be controlled by the interference of (a popularly elected government(?)) the legislature."

That was another line from that freaky speech Desmond had unlocked earlier, and he realized why the two (three) countries had been overthrown. Nationalizing wasn't the problem, it was being nationalized in a government that was democratically elected, i.e. putting the power to the people instead of the chosen few. Desmond pursed his lips, wondering what else the company had done in recent years to fuck with politics in order to prevent democracy. For that matter, how did the US even _get off the ground_? Templars must have been shitting their pants when the Declaration of Independence was signed. He wondered if the Assassins had any part of that successful portion of history.

Eventually, though, he refocused on the sonar and found the points on the screen.

"Quarantine lifted."

The puzzle ended and Desmond found himself outside the Pantheon, watching Ezio sneak past two men and into the massive church.

…

The last thing he needed was to synch with the memory after the headache he had just generated. "Next?" he asked, edging away from the memory and away from the plaza.

"_Santa Maria dei Miracoli and Santa Maria di Montesan._"

"Santa what now? Where am I going?"

"_Churches on the north wall of the city._"

Right. Desmond stuck to the streets, trying to put his head back on straight, weaving through the crowds and practicing his invisibility and his silent kills when he came across guards. He eventually made his way to the north wall, and found more ghosts, this time Ezio flanked with many other people, Machiavelli, Bartolomeo, Volpe, even... Claudia? Desmond backed away from the square, not wanting to synchronize and searched the churches with his eagle vision until he found the rift.

** Cluster 6**

_ "_Loading... Ninety percent of input missing. Output confused. Shut down. Shut down. Shut down inactive. Trapped."

Desmond blinked at the Animus voice, still and uncertain what to think. Trapped? But before he could ruminate on the Animus, another locked file appeared, and Desmond was assaulted with pictures: Political pictures, a forest, and a stamp of some kind. Desmond scanned again, looking at the additional text hidden in the pictures while he considered the clue, "Important men befriended Russia as the Iron Curtain was blown apart, but the most influential players stayed out of the spotlight."

"Gorbachev, 1990: Man of the Decade. Brings democracy to Russia. Establishes the Constitutional Court.

"August 1991: Declared the White Knight of the people, Yeltsin stands up to Communist threat! Gorbachev loses popularity!

"December 1991: Secret meeting called in the Belavezhskaya Forest. Yeltsin unseats Gorbachev, becomes leader of Russia!

"1992: Russian economy opened to elite oligarchs, private companies.

"1993: Parliament Disbanded by Yeltsin as he seizes control of Russia! Decree 1400! Constitutional Court disbanded!

"1993: 2.5 billion in aid from the U.S. Congress to Yeltsin after he disbands Parliament!

"The dream of a democratic state led by the people.

"Bretton Woods began it. The IMF delivers.

"The most favorable condition for reform is a weary public."

"... Yeah, I was a kid when all of this was happening. I sorta know the name Gorbachev, but who's Yeltsin?"

"_What kind of education did you HAVE as a child? Or did you just sleep through primary? Never mind, Baby Assassin. We'll start with the basics: Gorbachev was the head of the USSR, the Soviet Union. I hope you at least know what THAT was. He was trying to enact reforms to fix the problems Russia and its satellites were having, but things were deteriorating. Yeltsin, now he's an interesting character. In August of 1991, a coup against Gorbachev was organize and enacted. Yeltsin, Gorbachev's political nemesis, rallied the people to denounce the demonstration; he gave a very poetic speech atop a tank, and the military members of the coup defected. Cue hero-worship._

_ "December of that year brought Yeltsin and a few other Soviet presidents dissolving the USSR. Between this and the other political problems Gorbachev was having, he conceded _fait acompli._ Yeltsin spent the next year dismantling the socialist changes Gorbachev had slowly been making and turned all economic decisions over to – drum roll please – the IMF. The International Monetary Fund. Sixteen's comment about Decree 1400 is a little hazy, but he did dissolve the Parliament in '93, which he wasn't technically legally allowed to do. It dissolved into a big mess after that until Yeltsin pushed through his new constitution. You can guess what happened next._"

"He got what he wanted because the US was backing him financially to get... what did we want from them?"

"_Aside from the end of the largest Communist state, which had already happened? That thing called big oil, remember that?_"

"So the Templars, Abstergo, arranged for more 'free market' to access more resources to keep themselves rich and in charge," Desmond muttered, rubbing at his growing headache. He stared at the picture of Yeltsin making his famous speech on the tank, seeing the Abstergo symbol and selecting it. The coordinate code was punched in, and Desmond was shown another wheel lock, this time with missing numbers. That made his headache grow even more, but eventually they were able to unlock the cipher. A letter appeared:

10 Downing Street

Mr. Yeltsin,

I am writing this letter to encourage you to act. One rarely finds oneself in such an opportune position. Gorbachev does not have our interests at heart. He is moving far too slowly to privatize, and my deep fear is that he has no intention of doing so at all. I understand that you have expressed similar concerns. With that in mind, here is a proposal to remedy the situation.

Several of my top advisors at the Company maintain a monetary connection with the Communist old guard. They tell me that a riot might be easily incited while Gorbachev is away. If you were to repel an attempt to seize parliament in front of the media, it could very well tip the scales of power in your favor.

Telephone me at no. 10 and we shall further.

_"Number Ten? Seriously? Who was Prime Minister then... Margaret Thatcher? Oh, well, never mind then. For a moment I thought Sixteen was going disillusion me of another of England's greats, but I can totally believe Thatcher as a Templar._"

"... Uh-huh," Desmond said, moving on to the next puzzle.

Another garbled phone message appeared, and Desmond studiously filed through the different sine wave before finding the right combination. The file was labeled "Abstergo Phone Records 1992"

"Alpha Bank," said a man with a thick Russian accent.

A British accent answered. "I'm calling on behalf of British Petroleum."

"Yes, we were told you would be calling."

"As you know, we are very interested in acquiring Sidanko Oil."

"And as _you _know, that will require a merger with our bank," said the Russian.

"That should not be a problem."

"Were you surprised at the low price of the deal?"

"Somewhat," said the Brit.

"You know we have the peasants paying for it? The government gave us their tax money to buy all the companies."

"We would like to fly out there as soon as possible to discuss terms."

"Thursday works."

"Done. Thank you for your time."

"_Do svidaniya_."

The phones hung up, and Desmond thought the file was over, but then he heard another click and series of dials.

"Abstergo Industries," said a new voice.

"I am phoning on behalf of BP. We fly to Russia next week to secure the deal. Our new capitalist converts there behaved exactly as expected."

"I will let them know."

"Thank you."

The file ended. _Christ_ this was fucked up. Desmond had always figured that _capitalism_ was evil, he had enough drunk regulars to whine about nobody looking out for the little guy, or people squished under the thumbs of the rich, but didn't think it was actually _evil_ evil, as in overthrowing governments evil, as in existing for the sole purpose of funding Abstergo evil. Did that mean the guy running in the elections at home, Romney, was a Templar? Or one of their puppets? He shuddered at the thought, and for the first time in his life he wondered if he should go out and vote.

The superseding understanding of his present circumstances corrected him of that notion, but it was the first time he had ever felt something remotely akin to patriotism. He couldn't _stand_ the idea of Abstergo being in charge of the US, but if they could _overthrow governments_ and make it look like the US was behind it all, it did not bode well for who was and wasn't in the government. Desmond shuddered at the thought, wondering at just how far Abstergo's reach extended before realizing the answer was probably terrifying.

… Lucy might know.

"Did you know about all this?" he asked.

"_I was a kid when the Soviet thing happened, but I did read about it as an example of how to perpetuate their goals. I wasn't kidding when I said they could do _anything_."_

Desmond let out a long, slow, breath.

"Quarantine Zone."

The voice startled him, and Desmond stared at the screen, hearing the beeps of the sonar. There was another photo behind the screen, likely of the Russian leaders. Oddly there was music, but Desmond didn't know how to read it let alone recognize whatever song it was depicting. He did, however, see more text:

_ "_1999: Yeltsin ensures his protégé, Vladimir Putin, follows his lead."

And, chillingly,

"Apartment bombings start Czech war and elect Putin all planned by Abstergo."

"Quarantine Lifted."

Desmond respawned on the roof of the churches, and he sat down immediately. "Hey," he asked softly. "Can I get out of the Animus for a while? I have a headache."

"_Sure, Desmond. You can pick up with Ezio tomorrow._"

Desmond hoped he could make sense of it all by then.

* * *

After Ezio was sure that his novices were doing fine, he went to Salvatore to get a horse and rode out to check on Gilberto and the novices there. His arrival was fortuitous, as Gilberto was testing each of the novices on straight-out speed. This was ideal as this group didn't have any climbing skills at all.

Upon seeing Ezio, they each came crawling forward, exhausted from what la Volpe was putting them through, to complain how they didn't need this level of training.

Ezio couldn't quite help the mischievous smile that formed as he glanced to Gilberto. On the ground, his apprentice let out a pitiful groan.

"What, what?" Franco Sozzi, an ex-merchant with a good head for numbers asked.

Gilberto smiled. "I think a race is a lovely idea, Ezio."

Then the novices groaned. That night, the thieves and the novices stood side by side across an open field with the objective being the ruins that were barely visible in the distance.

"That far?" Elda whispered. "_Maestro_, how can you expect us to get that far?"

Alighiero, the novice with no tongue, only gaped. The thieves were limbering up, several calling out challenges that they'd beat Ezio this time.

Gilberto, however, was on a horse.

"My old friend," Ezio said. "When did you get so old as to need a horse?"

The thief shrugged. "My thieves insist I be the one to judge who gets there first. They seem to think it will be close, so I need to get there with time to spare."

"I'll see you soon, then."

Then the last touch was added. A thief brought out the dogs.

Candida's eyes widened. "_Maestro_, why are there dogs here?"

Ezio's smile was entirely too smug. "Why, they are the guards who seek to arrest you."

Sozzi shuddered. It seemed the point of learning how to run and climb was starting to sink in.

"Ready!" the thief with the dogs called. But he did not say when to start. He simply released the dogs.

To say that Ezio easily won the race would be an understatement of the highest order. The closest thief came almost a full five minutes after Ezio. Ezio's apprentice was mere seconds later, then the rest of the thieves came tottering in after him within ten to thirty second intervals, all gasping for breath. The novices trailed in almost ten minutes after that, disheveled and scratched from the dogs that were so happy to find new playmates.

Ezio thought that the lesson was learned rather well. Between both him and Volpe, the novices started to take in the needed skills to be quick, agile, and how to climb. Alighiero was the quickest to pick it up, by far. He, like Filippo showed a natural talent that Ezio sat up and noticed. Candida, the courtesan Claudia had recommended also did well, but then she was naturally agile when one considered her former profession. Elda and Sozzi struggled. Sozzi had strength, as a merchant he was often hefting his wares or unloading supplies, but didn't have any flexibility and his muscles made him a naturally slower runner. Elda, a former nun, was like Vittoria, and needed to start at the very bottom with no physical skills whatsoever.

The races became a nightly occurrence, and dogs nipping at their heels proved to be a good motivator to get the novices moving. Alighiero and Candida both started to build up their endurance and started to give the thieves a decent challenge, and Sozzi and Elda kept improving, though at a more moderate pace. Climbing started to be introduced and Ezio was pleased with how things were going.

It was on what he meant to be his last day that Gilberto pulled Ezio aside.

"Ezio. Some of the Cento Occhi have started to wander into our territory."

Ezio frowned. "That's not good."

"No. But they won't be missed if they are gone."

Ezio nodded. Time for his novices to start using the skills they were building up. One of Gilberto's thieves, Marcello, led them to some ruins that were where the rival gang was said to be settling in. He had not had the time to prepare them on how to kill with their hidden blades, as he had with the novices back at the hideout, or the way Bartolomeo was beating basic weapons work into his novices. But Gilberto had been showing them the fine art of pickpocketing along with building them up with running and climbing. And Ezio insisted that they use those skills to place knives into the backs of whom they were after.

This would be messy, but they would learn.

Ezio stayed with Alighiero and Candida while his apprentice worked with Elda and Sozzi. In the light of day, when the thieves were most likely asleep aside from the pickpockets and the cutpurses, they slipped through the ruins, killing the Cento Occhi as they came across them. There were about thirty in the camp, and despite best efforts, the novices were just that, novices. Elda, stone-faced, yet teary-eyed, missed one of her stabs, and her victim made noise, waking others. Soon it was the six of them against fifteen. One thing Ezio had told his apprentice firmly was that each of the novices needed to make a kill, so looking at each other over the ruins, they nodded. Ezio was fast and illusive, tearing apart the thieves easily as they had no armor to protect themselves. He easily took down a half dozen of them. His apprentice took out another four, though with more difficulty. That just left five for his four novices.

Sozzi was surprisingly able to take one down almost immediately, his strength proving to be an asset, then a hindrance as the next thief he faced off with was far more agile than him. Candida was fairing evenly with the thief she was facing, as was Elda, though the former nun looked a little off in her footing, though that was unsurprising. Alighiero, however, was balanced. He was agile and strong, and though he didn't take his opponent down with the same speed of Sozzi, the thief was defeated a moment later. The mute then went to help the merchant. Upon seeing the odds, the thief took off running, making Alighiero and Sozzi make chase. Ezio nodded to his apprentice, and he went off after them, leaving Ezio to observe the girls and their opponents.

Candida circled the thief carefully, both with nicks from each other's blades proving their equal footing. But then the former courtesan shocked the thief. She reached up and ripped open her shirt, revealing her breasts. The thief staggered, not having expected the tactic at all, and Candida surged forward, her hidden blade tasting the thief's heart.

Elda was still struggling. She didn't have the skills for a battle like this and it was showing. She had grown quick enough, under la Volpe, to be able to not get hurt, but she didn't have the knowledge of blade work or even footwork to kill the thief who was pushing her back. Candida rushed forward to help, screaming as she did so. The thief naturally heard her coming and turned, slicing a long gash along Candida's arm. Then it was Elda who was screaming, jumping onto the thief's back and stabbing him repeatedly in the back, even after the man was clearly dead.

Ezio stepped forward and Elda sank into his arms, crying. Her first kill reminded him of his killing the Gonfaloniere. So he held her like a father might hold an upset daughter, and just let her cry. Candida soon joined the hug, after she'd bandaged her arm. Ezio held them close, and did his best to console them on the choices that they were making and what this would mean for what they would do.

When his apprentice returned with Alighiero and Sozzi, both of which were winded from the chase, but smiling in success, they headed back to Volpe's inn. He spoke with them as he had spoken with the other novices on the way back. About what his first kill had been like, how he had felt, and what it had meant. Sozzi and Candida kept talking to Elda, and Alighiero just stayed nearby, unable to offer words.

Ezio stayed another week, and Elda started to look better as her fellow novices continued to take care of her. Then he headed back to his hideout. There was still so much work to be done.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Whew. Eight of the twelve novices have just been introduced. Could you keep track of them all? We'll list everyone's names at the end of the Author's Notes. A lot of people were excited for our writing Brotherhood for the sole reason of the apprentices. Several people tried (very, very hard) to get their own apprentices into this novelization, and while we're touched that they think we're good enough to handle their lovingly made characters, this isn't a novice's story. This is _Ezio's_ story. We have twelve novices, five apprentices, and the core Brotherhood, plus the Borgia, their allies, and Leonardo to keep track of. There just isn't enough room to go into deep, tragic backstories of novices or watch as every single one of them learns some new facet or overcomes a particular challenge.

What we decided to do was to make up our list of novices and then gave them very basic personalities. The goal is that, by the end of the fic, you'll recognize so-and-so's name and what they're good at, whether it's a guy or a girl, and have a surface understanding of their personalities. Everything else will be reader interpretation. More than that just isn't feasible.

Having said that, we hope you enjoy the apprentices, because we have a big time skip to deal with. Caterina's escape was in June 1501. Now we kill time until August 1503. Hm, I wonder what we're doing for the next several chapters...

Desmond showed up, and his sequence is pretty much summed up in one sentence: It all goes downhill from here. At least he's starting to pick up signals from Lucy. That has to count for something. Oh, wait...

We also, hard though it is, tried to at least make it remotely justifiable for Lucy's betrayal. Not that Desmond or anyone else picks up on it, but we figured that evidence had to be there somewhere, otherwise Desmond simply isn't going to believe it all in Revelations and AC3. And for the record: Templars overthrowing governments? Scary. Really, really, scary.

Next chapter: Federica is a teenager, Ezio misses Claudia's birthday, and a certain painter makes an appearance.

Note: Some apprentices will be referred to either their first or last names, depending. Not everyone had last names back then, and we wanted to emphasize that point in some way.

Elda – former Nun, singer

Sancia DiNozzo – housekeeper, last name is her boss' family name

Candida - courtesan

Filippo Falcone – former thief

Giordano - thick, fast

Giovanni Migliore – former merchant

Alighiero Scarlotti- tongue cut out by Borgia, mute

Franco Sozzi – former merchant, pseudo banker

Innocenzo Abate – former merchant, philanderer

Taddeo - mercenary, slow mentally, big and strong

Gaspare Gaspari – former scrivener, overeager, excitable (yes, that's his name. We pity him)

Vittoria – first apprentice, resolute, determined


	9. Two Steps Forward, One Back

**Part Nine: Two Steps Forward, One Back**

By mid-October, Varzi's team was back with Bartolomeo and training after successfully taking out the Doge Agostino Barbarigo. Ezio debated heading out to the barracks to talk to them, since that group was the only one he hadn't yet spoken to about the first kill. But since Varzi had taken them with her, he could only hope that they had already dealt with it. Antonio and Teodora would have taken care of them in Venice. He also didn't have to worry about skills with them, since Bartolomeo had been training recruits for well over a decade.

What was worrying was the rumblings from France and Aragon. Word was spreading into Roma of a possible alliance between the two over claims of Naples. Ezio could sense a war brewing, and he remembered the Frenchman he'd heard talking to Cesare. Louis XII and Ferdinand making war was going to make things difficult, but Ezio had to admit, it would keep Cesare busy. If the young butcher was conquering city-states but avoiding foreign armies, he wouldn't hear how things were going back in Rome, giving Ezio even more of a free hand to do what was needed.

But the people would suffer for it.

All of this was supposition however. At least until a chilly day at the end of November when Pantasilea finally sent word that Louis and Ferdinand had signed an alliance and were preparing to march.

Ezio sighed.

While he kept up with his lessons with Enu in learning Turkish, he started visiting Etienne more often to practice his French as well. If Louis was sending troops, he'd have to refresh his knowledge of the language to eavesdrop any important facts.

November had Ezio switching the groups for training. Those staying at the warehouse training under both himself and Claudia went off to Gilberto to learn how to run and climb, Gilberto's novices went to Bartolomeo to learn how to fight, and Bartolomeo's group returned to the hideout. Ezio quickly used Varzi to go check in with Enu and Vecellio to see how rumors of the Cento Occhi and Followers of Romulus were. With the three in the countryside, hopefully it would help with cutting down on the raids.

He might have to make those three full Assassins soon. They had proven to be reliable, flexible, adaptable, and sharp. But they were still so inexperienced. Vecellio, the best of the five, still had a tendency for a temper, though he had better control now than when he'd arrived, no doubt.

Of course, with November here, Ezio had a present to get for Federica, so he was walking the streets again, trying to see what would be a good gift. There was no doubt Federica was taking more and more after her father, if her interest in learning how to fight was any indication. But having Etienne forge some daggers didn't seem an appropriate gift, especially since she was turning thirteen.

As he walked around Tibre Island and the surrounding areas, he still helped out when he could, the citizens always glad for the help. Now that he'd been in Rome for two years, he was a familiar figure and those who had been hesitant of his offer to invest in their business in exchange for a one-percent tax were starting to take him up on his offer, having seen what the help could get. It wasn't much of an improvement, but the people were starting to make enough money to survive instead of being destitute. Ezio's corner of the city was starting to bring in customers from other parts, rich men and women looking for good products as cheaply as possible, and Ezio's area of Roma could provide that, starting to inject more money into the economy.

It was a slow process, but it was starting to work.

One evening, Ezio was out with the novices. He was going to race them to the old Papal apartments and spend the night putting them through their paces, but as he was explaining the route they were going to take, a courtesan rushed forward.

"_Maestro_!" she gasped, tripping forward.

Sancia, a former maid displaced when her lord had been taken down by the Borgia, caught her, and helped her forward.

The courtesan was out of breath, taking giant gulps of air and Sancia offered her some wine from her wineskin, taking her to a bench. The courtesan started to catch her breath and calm down, but she still trembled with fear. Ezio kneeled in front of her, offering his hand, which the courtesan clutched desperately.

"_Maestro_," she said, between breaths to calm herself. "Your family has my loyalty and I will never waver. But I am now in danger for it."

Ezio frowned. "Please, how might we help?"

"The Pope is starting to suspect you are in Roma and is trading favors with ambassador's who are known to frequent whorehouses to find out where you are," she explained. "One of them has asked to meet with me. I fear he won't be alone."

"Then we will go with you."

The relief on her face was palpable. "Oh _thank you_,_ Maestro_," she said. "_Grazie_."

Ezio turned to his quartet of novices. "Giordano, Migliore, you two are on the roofs. Be wary of the guards, and stay hidden. We have no moon tonight, which will keep you out of sight, but you won't be able to see your footing either. Be careful. Abate, stay to alleys and side streets. Keep parallel with us. Sancia, you and I will be following at a discreet distance."

They all nodded and they quickly fanned out. They were going to be heading to Mausoleo di Augusto, the ancient circular structure overlooking the Tevere and the Castel Sant'Angelo, and equally ancient tree growing in its center. The courtesan continued to make her way to the meeting spot, nerves in every line of her body, though she was no longer cowering as she had before. Giordano and Migliore were excellent on the roofs, as Ezio expected. Giordano wasn't that bright, but he was _fast_. The Florentine Assassin was looking forward to seeing what Volpe would do with that speed, as Giordano would likely make a good runner. Giovanni Migliore (called Migliore by everyone because of his common given name) also had an excellent sense of balance and nimbleness. While Ezio could hear them up on the roofs, the average person could not, showing that the two did have skill. Abate stayed to the side-streets as told, but there was nothing outstanding on how he was doing.

Sancia, on the other hand, had been having difficulty with Claudia's lessons. And Bartolomeo. She was uncoordinated and prone to tripping. Ezio played along with it, making everything seem normal, but he was starting to worry that she might not be cut out for the more physical aspects of being an Assassin.

So he stayed close to her.

The Mausoleo was in shadows, the lamps and candles of the area out as more and more people finally slept under the night. Ezio let out a low whistle, stopping all his novices and calling them to him. The courtesan sat at a bench, stretching out her feet.

Looking hard at Mausoleo, Ezio's special sight could tell that the ambassador had some associates waiting with him. "She is about to be ambushed," he explained. "Giordano, Migliore, climb up and come down from above. Sancia, Abate, you come in once you hear the fighting."

"And you, _Maestro_?" Migliore asked.

Ezio crossed his arms and smiled. "I'll be going in with our courtesan."

Once everyone was in place, Ezio walked beside the courtesan, flirting and looking like an escort. His hood was down, but the dark night hid his face, and his half-cloak hid all his weaponry for the chilly night particularly as a light drizzle began to fall.

The courtesan fell into character easily, at once at the Mausoleo, she giggled and teased, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, then leading him in.

"Ambassador," she called sweetly, "I know you like to watch..." she trailed off as the number of extra people around settled in. "Oh..." she said quietly, looking completely surprised at there being so many people there for a romantic rendezvous, showing no sign at all that she had seen this coming.

The ambassador smiled. "I thank you for meeting me here, my dear," he said, his voice accented. "But I'm afraid we weren't going to get a 'happy ending' right away." He stepped forward. "I have questions. You have answers. Then we get to a 'happy ending'."

"I... I..."

The ambassador reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward roughly. Ezio whistled and leapt forward, breaking the ambassador's arm with his sword and pulling the courtesan back and behind him so that he could defend her as his novices showed their skills.

Migliore's drop was perfect, taking out one of the thugs and quickly engaging another. Giordano was not as precise, and his victim was still breathing though nothing would be able to save him. Abate surged forward, with decent sword work and engaging the thugs as well. Sancia struggled, but with the four novices having caught the thugs by surprise, there was no doubt who was going to win. They also had the ambassador surrounded and he couldn't escape the small space of the Mausoleo with all the fighting around him.

Within minutes it was over.

"Thank you, _Maestro_," the courtesan said. "My loyalty will continue to be unfaltering."

"I think it is time to get you back to the Rosa in Fiore." It would give him a chance to talk to Claudia about an appropriate gift for Federica. Assuming they didn't argue again.

Federica's birthday cast a shadow of gloom over the family. For all that it was a happy occasion and she loved Ezio's gift, Maria was not well. She kept calling Ezio "Federico" and her granddaughter as "Petruccio". She wondered where Ezio was and why he wasn't visiting, and where Giovanni had taken him.

Ezio's heart ached.

He was brooding in the hideout about it when a thief came in. It was one of Gilberto's men, one who had been in charge of the dogs when training the novices how to run.

"_Maestro_," he greeted.

Ezio nodded. "And how is the fight with the Cento Occhi going?"

The thief grinned. "We have an opportunity. Vincenzo is a town scribe who works for the Cento Occhi. He writes announcements for the heralds that divert all suspicion of larceny to us instead of his thieving cohorts. But through hard work, we've set up that he and a Borgia captain named Galvano often bicker and fight. It is a chance to drive a wedge between those thieves and the Borgia."

Ezio grinned. This would be an excellent distraction for himself and a chance to test his novices. "Leave it to me."

It did not take long to find the scribe. By happenstance Vincenzo was the scribe that Abate had used from time to time, and soon Sancia was keeping an eye on him and getting a sense of his movements. Finding Galvano took some work, since the citizens never knew the city guard personally. It was only from Migliore and his boldly starting to talk to city guards as a wronged merchant that they found out that Galvano normally patrolled the rooftops, enjoying to look down from on high in his arrogance.

So Ezio set everything up. One late afternoon, he watched from a far roof as Giordano killed Galvano and rummaged around to find something useful and identifiable. Once he had something, he dumped Galvano's body to the street. Giordano swiftly raced across the roofs, giving Ezio the evidence, a small amulet with Galvano's family crest on it, before heading back to the hideout.

Ezio easily slipped down to the streets, passing the amulet to Sancia. The former servant went through the streets, blending in, though still stumbling from time to time, until she came across Abate. She passed the amulet off to him and headed back.

Still keeping an eye on his novices and noting what each needed to work on, he watched Abate weave through the streets to the scribe's shop. Abate would be recognized, so he didn't enter, but Migliore was there and took the amulet and slipped inside to plant it.

Meanwhile, Abate was talking to everyone in the square about this new amulet that Vincenzo was hiding in his shop, making sure that the Borgia heard it as he described it to the citizens.

Once Migliore left the shop, they all headed back to the hideout.

A week later, a herald was reporting the arrest of the scribe Vincenzo in the suspected murder of a Borgia captain that had brutally taken place just the previous week.

December and its cold rain loomed overhead and Ezio was once more locking himself in the hideout and painting. Maria's illness was progressing and Ezio could do nothing on it. She'd been ill essentially since his family had died and there was no way to just bring them back. So he painted. He painted out all his frustration and pain, he painted out the loss that was brought up and remembered.

He painted because it was all he could do.

It was in the middle of December when Gilberto stopped by and found Ezio and his canvas. Gilberto just stood there as Ezio cleaned his brushes, looking at the painting. Then he put his hand on Ezio's shoulder. They said nothing for the moment, then went to Ezio's desk downstairs in the main meeting room.

"How are you, Gilberto? And how are my novices?"

"Fine," Gilberto said, sitting down. "This group is a bit more agile than the last, but that's no surprise with Filippo there. But I have come with word on the Cento Occhi."

"So soon? Are we finally breaking their backs?"

"We've certainly made progress in that regard."

"So how can we help? Once you are free from the Cento Occhi, you can help me hunt down the Followers of Romulus."

Gilberto smiled. "Your apprentices in the countryside are still hunting. Don't worry, the people are noticing. I expect in a few months they'll have enough trust to start getting word of things."

Ezio nodded. That meant he might have to set up a base out in the fields of Rome, but that was a problem for a different time. First thing's first.

"So how can we break the Cento Occhi this time?"

"We've gotten word of a box of pardons, paroles, and payoffs that the Borgia are giving to the Cento Occhi as a peace offering after a horrible situation where a thief's scribe killed a Borgia captain." Gilberto gave a fox smile. "I'm sure you've heard of it?"

Ezio gave a proper Florentine smile of irony. "I may have."

It didn't take long to find the peace offering. The people of Roma were happy to help whenever Ezio asked questions. It seemed there was some surprising increase in guards at Trastevere so it didn't take a genius to figure it out (though Giordano took longer than expected to figure it out).

Sancia used her clumsiness to trip into the guards at an entranceway, which provided enough of an opening for Abate to slip in. Migliore kept a crossbow and quietly watched the roofs, just in case someone noticed anything. Giordano provided a different distraction at a different entrance, calling for help against a thief that had taken his purse, which gave Abate the chance to escape. Once in the streets, Ezio took the box and slipped to the crowds.

Gilberto happily took the box, knowing some of his forgers could change the pardons and the payoffs would be going into their joint coffers.

Christmas loomed closer and Ezio returned to his painting. He was determined to finish it before the sad holiday. Many late nights left his fingers frigid, but he made sure he didn't ignore his novices. He kept training them, teaching them, and making sure they could do what they had committed to do. He had given himself a tight deadline. Sleep was fleeting, but then, this time of year was always difficult. He still grieved over his mother at Federica's birthday, and this was all he could do.

It was a portrait. One of Ulderico standing and smiling, his hands on the shoulders of Maria, much younger and sitting, wearing a smile Ezio hadn't seen since he was a boy.

It wasn't enough. There were details missing, and something felt off in the positioning, but the _feeling_ of the painting remained. Even if no one else understood outside of his family. But he could do nothing else.

* * *

Claudia's birthday was spent under the Colosseo with his novices, trying to work through his depression. Another letter came from the French Assassins, expressing sympathies with the danger their country posed to Ezio but having their hands full with the French court. Spain was still bogged down with Isabella's damned Inquisition, and that didn't even get into all the nuances in Italy itself. To pile on the frustration, the novice Sancia simply had _no_ sense of balance, he had restricted her climbing wholesale for fear of breaking a bone – she fell even when someone bumped into her! Teaching her anything physical was a challenge, but not compared to Giordano, who even after so many months couldn't read simple words written out for him, and that didn't include Abate – a capable man overall, but with far too big a mouth and prone to boasting even minor accomplishment. Dimwitted Giordano followed along with the exploits, and the group was becoming difficult to handle, making Ezio push them even further in the races and courses under the Colosseo. He hadn't even realized it was after the second until he found Claudia sitting at his desk in the hideout, perfectly still, and glaring at him with hard eyes.

That had quickly degenerated into an argument with a fiery "You don't care!" shouted over her shoulder before storming out, breezing through the novices and muttering under her breath.

As if that wasn't bad enough, after a six month hiatus, Machiavelli returned from Cesare's front lines to witness the exit.

"I see some things haven't changed," he said.

"Do not start with me," Ezio snarled, and then winced when he realized his poor mood. "Sorry," he amended, "It has been difficult."

"Taking in degenerates and trying to teach them above their abilities would be."

"... What have you learned?" Ezio asked in a strained voice.

Machiavelli sat down, rolling out a map of Italy. Most of his news Ezio had learned from Bartolomeo, via Pantasilea, but one new bit of information was that Cesare had finally finished his siege at Piombino, adding more land to Cesare's claim. The next major campaign would be Marche: Urbino and Camerino, and Ezio perked when Machiavelli talked of the morale of troops. Several _condottieri_, it seemed, were weary of his cruelty, both to the people and to his own men. Ezio asked if there was anything to be done there. If he could cripple Cesare's forced from inside...

Machiavelli looked thoughtful. "It would be an interesting strategy," he said slowly. "I'll see what I can do when next I ride out. I'm here for a few weeks before I learn my next assignment."

Ezio nodded. "Do you have any major plans?"

To his everlasting astonishment, Machiavelli turned bright red. "No," he said curtly.

"... So even Niccolò Machiavelli can't turn away his Florentine heritage," Ezio said brightly, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't think it possible!"

Machiavelli didn't respond well to the teasing, however, and left the hideout in a huff. He refused to even speak with Ezio until the master assassin apologized – which he did in good humor – and asked about the recruits if for no other reason than to change topics. Ezio explained the regime he had worked out, and introduced him to the rotation he currently had. Machiavelli openly scoffed at the dimwitted Giordano and the tiny servant Sancia, and eschewed that Ezio's _other_ recruits had better be of higher standards. Ezio offered to ride out to Volpe's inn if he was so inclined, but the Florentine diplomat declined, citing more pressing business like reconnecting with contacts and seeing what fruits time had born. The poor evaluation left the recruits in a bad mood, Sancia burst into tears and Migliore worked himself ragged for the rest of the day, leaving Giordano confused as to what happened and Abate to give scathing words – forcing Ezio to talk to him about respecting others and ordering them all to Rosa in Fiore for the next week just to be rid of them.

Throwing his hands up in defeat, he went out for a walk to clear his head.

He got as far as crossing the Ponte Cestio before he heard an incessant hiss.

"Pst! Ezio! Over here!"

The master assassin blinked, surprised to hear his given name. Everyone outside the hideout called him _Messere_, or _Maestro_; few indeed even knew his surname. Even in the hideout, the novices and apprentices all called him _Maestro_, Claudia and Machiavelli were the only people in the city proper to call him by his given name. Who would do that? Who would even _know_ it?

Taking a left he walked down a small flight of steps to a small vista of the river, gondolas gliding by in the evening light.

"Who is there?" he demanded, hand by his sword.

"Ezio!"

Stiffening, he turned, shocked. His beard had grown out again, his face aged for his fifty years; but his eyes were still bright, still curious, and his smile was still winning. "Leonardo!" Relief swept through Ezio, worry for his friend for the past two years finally abating as he saw him, arms wide. The master assassin stepped up gladly. "Come here!" he said brightly, the two quickly embracing. Leonardo gripped his friend tightly.

"I thought you were dead!" the painter muttered, "But I knew you were behind the break-in at Sant'Angelo! It is good to see you, friend..."

Ezio had to pry the painter off, pulling him to arm's length, drinking in his friend's face. "I was so worried when Milan fell to the French, I lost track of the letters I sent but there was never a reply. Where have you been? _How_ have you been?"

"How did you ever survive the attack on Monteriggioni?"

The two asked their questions simultaneously, and they laughed, patting each other's shoulders and arms and just _looking_ at each other, so glad were they for the reunion.

"I _must_ take you to the hideout," Ezio said. "You must see what I've been doing. I painted a portrait of _Zio_ Mario, I think you'd like it, and I just finished one of Mother and Ulderico, and I have to ask you about the Codex inventions, do you still have that apprentice of yours, Salai? I can introduce you to the novices – can you believe that I've been-"

"Sh, sh, sh!" Leonardo said quickly, raising a finger to quiet Ezio. The normally carefree painter looked around nervously, up the steps and down an alley, glancing at roofs.

"Leonardo, what is it?" Ezio asked, incredulous that his friend, his flighty, easily distracted, infinitely inquisitive friend, was being so paranoid about his surroundings. To his surprise, Leonardo physically winced at the question, turning pained eyes to the master assassin.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "The Borgia have commandeered my services."

… What?

"... _What_?"

"Actually, they would have killed me had I refused."

Ezio took in the information, still incredulous. "What do they want?"

The question seemed to make Leonardo even more paranoid, he looked about more – like a coiled spring ready to bolt, and Ezio put a hand on the painter's shoulder, calling on his eagle and looking around. He saw no traces of red, no triggers of gold, and he nodded to his friend. Leonardo sagged against the rail over the river, running a hand through his beard and hair. "I didn't think I could actually shake them off, I kept seeing guards everywhere and I didn't know if they were supposed to follow me or not. I think the Borgia know I knew you.. or at least I suspect as much. I had to, otherwise I would have led anyone following me right to you and I didn't want that... I've been looking for you every free moment I had... but I didn't even know where to start... I couldn't believe when I saw you..."

"It's alright, Leonardo," Ezio said, touching his friend's arm. "There's nobody here, not in this part of the city."

"What does that mean? No, better I don't ask. Oh, Ezio..."

The master assassin, it seemed, was not the only one who had had a difficult two years, and Ezio let the painter have his moment, slowly unwinding. He almost disappeared to get a flagon of wine, but he couldn't bring himself to leave his friend now that they had found each other again, and so he leaned against the rail, watching the river, and waited. After several minutes, he touched Leonardo's arm again, softly getting his attention. "The Borgia have commandeered you. To do what? What do they want?"

"War machines. I have constructed weapons for all the Borgia guards and other terrible monstrosities besides. They are very well designed, Ezio. Here," he said, pressing a rolled bit of parchment into the master assassin's hands. "The names of the Templars overseeing their construction. Cesare intends to supply his army with my creations."

"How would you even know how to construct war machines?"

"... The Apple. In Forli. I saw many things inside it."

"And you're _building_ them?"

"Not exactly," Leonardo said slowly. "They are very well designed, Ezio, but the designs are not complete. They look good on paper, but there are certain things I... neglected to include, and they will never work. They don't know that. Yet. But in time they will, and I will no doubt reap the consequences."

Ezio looked at the list in his hands, realizing just what Leonardo was asking. Even his friend, innocent of the Brotherhood and its inner workings, was now forced to turn to Ezio for aid. As soon as the machines were put to trial, the painter was a good as dead. "_Grazie_, for trusting me with this," Ezio said. "I will take care of the plans and the men building them."

"There is far graver news, I am afraid," Leonardo said, rubbing his beard and shifting his weight. "They have the Apple."

The main gates blowing open, Mario on his knees, Cesare lifting the cursed ball up into the air... All the pain swept over Ezio, and he took several moments to master it. "Yes, I know," Ezio replied, his voice tight with memory. "I gave the Apple to Mario. They captured him... and killed him..."

"I am sorry, Ezio," Leonardo said softly, touching the master assassin's arm. "Cesare left it in my hands to study, to make it work. Then Rodrigo took it from me, I know not where."

A new problem, then. Ezio had decimated the pope's inner circle over the last twenty-plus years, leaving few people indeed for the Spaniard to trust with such a responsibility. It was also telling that he had, essentially, revoked Cesare's decision to study the Apple. Did that mean something? Dissension in the ranks? He needed information; that meant Machiavelli or Gilberto. Ezio rubbed his eyes, not wanting an argument with either man – either on the trustworthiness of Machiavelli or the worthiness of training novices. Why couldn't they work together? Still, it was more than Volpe had been able to discover in two years.

"I will recover it in time," Ezio said. He looked out over the river, watching the gondolas again. "Leonardo, I have lost all the Codex inventions you once fashioned for me."

The painter turned to look at Ezio, his eyes flitting down to his unarmed right arm, seeing the truth of it. "Hmm," he said slowly, talking more to himself than Ezio. "Remaking them will be easy, I never forget a design. I can pass it off as a miniature of the war machines, or maybe testing metal strengths? I can do it at night when the rest are asleep... But you must compensate me for the raw material," he added, facing Ezio.

The master assassin blinked, openly surprised. "_Really_?" he asked. Leonardo had _never_ charged for making Ezio's equipment, indeed he was thrilled for the opportunity, loving the challenge, or even seeing if some of the items were even possible. To be so hard pressed for florins... "They are not paying you at Il Vaticano?"

Leonardo openly snorted. "Very... _very_ little," he said, the bitter sarcasm foreign in his bright tenor. He rubbed his beard again, scratching at his cheek and his hair. "If we are to do this, we must appear to not meet at all."

"Agreed. We don't need to give them any reason to suspect anything. How can we arrange to meet? Do you have access to a pigeon coup?"

"No, even if we coded the letters they would wonder what it was all about. I have a better idea."

Leonardo pushed off the rail and knelt down at a nearby bench, pulling out a stick of chalk and making quick, gestural strokes on the stone. Finished, he stood and looked to his friend.

"... A hand pointing?" Ezio asked, a little dubious.

"It's pointing to where you should sit," Leonardo said brightly, his old spirit bleeding through. "So, sit!"

Another harebrained idea of the painter, but ingenious in its oddity. "Yes, _maestro,_" Ezio said lightly, taking a seat, Leonardo following suit.

"Ah," the painter said. "I've been on my feet all day looking for you."

"You've become an old man, my friend."

"I'm fifty years old, Ezio. I'd hate to see how I ache when I'm sixty." Leonardo stretched before crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. "How did you survive? The attack, I mean? The Vatican was dancing on your grave for over a year, saying your body was dragged through the streets."

"... I almost didn't," Ezio said quietly, explaining in clipped, pained words about Mario's murder and his being shot, Ulderico's sacrifice and the frenzied escape through the underground tunnels. Leonardo, in turn, talked about his flight from Milan, stopping off at Venice and Rome before settling in Florence, where the Borgia had found him. His work had been kept a secret, but now they were announcing his employment, forcing him to come to Rome to be more closely monitored.

"So," Leonardo said slowly. It was sunset now, only a few gasps of light clinging to the world. "How may I be of service?"

"Hidden blades," Ezio said. "I have my eyes on a smith who is skilled enough to make them, but I can't just give him this," he lifted his forearm, "and have him reverse engineer the design. I need a copy of it so he can make it; and it will take some of the pressure off you, because I am soon going to need quite a few hidden blades."

Leonardo nodded, his bright eyes already drawing conclusions from Ezio's minimal explanation. "I can do that. What else?"

"Poison darts," Ezio said. He did not know how to explain the novices to Leonardo without putting the painter in further danger. Leonardo likely already figured it out, but Ezio wanted to keep everything plausibly deniable.

"That might be more difficult, casting the metal is not easy, not without making it brittle. Show me some of his work and I can judge if he's good enough for that. Has the fire arm taken any damage?"

"No."

"Let me see, just to be certain." And, like he always did, Leonardo reached into Ezio's personal space and yanked at his arm, turning it this way and that, examining Ezio's hidden blade and noting every nick, every dent, every pull of leather. "You need to clean the barrel more," he muttered, "the powder is damaging the metal, but I can give you a solution to clean that... and this spring here... Wait here. I will be back soon. I must return to my workshop."

Ezio blinked. "Just like that...?"

"I knew you were alive, Ezio," Leonardo said. "I've known it for six months, and I knew I had to do _something_."

Leonardo looked around, nervous tension seeping back into him, before getting up and walking (almost) calmly down an alley and out to a street.

Ezio leaned back on the bench. He would tail Leonardo to the painter's workshop, but not now, not when he was already so stressed. The hours dragged by, Ezio locked in place because he did not want to miss Leonardo's arrival or give his best friend more reason to worry, but it was almost midnight when he finally returned.

"Here," he said. "The compensation is in the blade plans, as is the name of my banker."

Ezio nodded, taking the parchment, and marveling when he saw a second hidden blade unwrapped in cloth. "When... How...?"

Leonardo smiled, slightly bitter. "When I thought you were dead... I wanted a reminder of you... somehow..."

The emotion of it swept over Ezio, and he pulled the painter into another hug, clapping his back and squeezing extra hard. "_Amico mio_," he said softly.

They talked softly for another twenty minutes or so, heedless of the obscenely late hour, and Ezio let Leonardo leave first, sitting only for another ten minutes before getting up and tracing the painters steps _very_ discretely. The workshop was on the east side of the central part of the city, nondescript, and Ezio noted it in his mind before backtracking and taking a circuitous route to the warehouse.

Machiavelli was there, even at two in the morning, and sitting at the main desk.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, rubbing his face. "I've been here since eight; the novices said you were out for a walk; what 'walk' takes so long?"

Ezio frowned, thinking of Leonardo's position, the danger he was in, and the painfully tight lid Machiavelli kept with his own circle of spies. "We all have our secrets," he said simply, face carefully blank.

The Florentine diplomat frowned and the surprisingly vague answer and Ezio met the gaze evenly. Machiavelli nodded, understanding on some level. The pair went to bed, and the next morning Machiavelli explained what he had wanted to talk to Ezio about. "I took the liberty of setting up a means of communication with your recruits. We send orders via carrier pigeon. I know you have the apprentices you collected out in the countryside looking for the Followers of Romulus, this will save time riding out there for check-ins. Also, I have a list of contracts that will take you out of the country; carrier pigeon would be simpler."

"Thank you, Machiavelli," Ezio said. "It has come to my attention that Cesare intends to make war machines," he added, pulling out his list that Leonardo had risked so much to deliver to him. "The last thing he needs is more artillery, but I was able to acquire a list of names and locations: Colli Albani, Napoli, Valnerina, and Monte Circeo. The designs need to be destroyed, and the Templars building them killed."

Machiavelli blinked. "How did you even _discover_ this? I've been with Cesare for six months and he gave no hint of this."

"I said before, we all have our secrets," Ezio said with a Florentine smile.

"... I see."

"Not so easy when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?"

Machiavelli scoffed but said nothing, instead pulling out a map of Rome and pointing out the pigeon coops he had acquired with Ezio's funds and how the system worked. The method was rather clever, leaving no evidence of Assassin involvement, and Ezio briefed the rotation he had on the scheme, wincing as the dullard Giordano failed to understand any of it. Ezio assigned them to memorize where they were and then travel to as many of them as possible to see how well they did and set them off in pairs.

Soon after, Gilberto arrived with more news: Lucrezia Borgia was getting married.

"That is nothing new," Machiavelli said, "The pope has been looking for a suitable third husband for months, hoping to sell her off to acquire even more power."

"But his choice is most interesting," Volpe said in a tightly controlled voice. "Alfonso d'Este of Ferrara."

"Really?" Ezio asked. "A duchess? I would have thought a higher rank more desirable."

"After the scandal over her child a few years ago, few men indeed would have her," Volpe said. "The wedding is in February. Now, Alfonso is not an actor, but he isn't the only man she is bedding. There is a poet, Pietro Bembo, and a chevalier from France, I don't know his name yet. There are at least two others that I know of, but Pope Alexander keeps her very well guarded. My spies are having a hard time sneaking in to watch her. I'm sorry, Ezio, but I need more time."

"Take the time you need," Ezio replied. "We still don't know who Cesare is trusting with his French forces, only that it is a Valois, and that family is noticeably big."

"French royalty tends to be," Machiavelli said with a dry voice. "And we still don't know the name of the Banker. Has Claudia come up with anything, or are you two still fighting?"

Ezio's mood soured immediately, and not long after he was entering the subtle scents of Rosa in Fiore to try and make peace with his sister.

Any thoughts of that died on his lips when he saw Federica, _Federica,_ in the main salle talking to several courtesans. Claudia had vowed the girl would not learn the ways of the courtesans, what...?

His niece caught sight of him and her thirteen year old face lit up. "_Zio_ 'zio!" she said brightly.

"What are you _doing_ here?" he demanded.

The young teen's face immediately soured. "Mother was right," she said turning back to the courtesans and addressing Lucia, oil and vitriol in her voice. "He's a man just like any other: nothing is right if he does not personally approve of it. Women are sacrosanct to be caged unless their purity is already soiled; then they are nothing but-"

"_Federica,_" Lucia said in a hard voice, back straight. "How many times have I told you those words are _not_ shared in front of _men_? _This_ is why you can always be spotted, you draw too much attention to yourself. _Maestro,_" she added, looking to the sputtering master assassin, "I will handle the child. Your sister is in her office." She paused, before adding, "You hurt her, that day."

"Don't tell him that!" Federica hissed. "He needs to _hurt_ the way she hurt."

"_Federica_," Lucia said, grabbing the girl's wrist, yanking her up the stairs to a private salle and discipline her properly. Ezio watched with aghast eyes, tension building in his muscles and his jaw and his fists before he stormed to Claudia's office.

"Federica was in the main salle, _why_?" he demanded without preamble.

Claudia looked up from the book she was pouring over, surprised at first to see Ezio. Then her gaze hardened and she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "She doesn't understand how much attention her mouth draws to herself, I put her there to watch the experts. She knows how smart Lucia and the others are, but she needs to see the difference in how they _are_ versus how they _present_ themselves. I take it she mouthed off to you?"

"She hates me!"

"She hates _me,_ too, Ezio," Claudia said, gesturing for him to sit. "The girls tell me it is normal; every girl will come to hate everyone as she becomes a woman. I remember how much I hated you and Federico when I was young, so it makes sense."

The offhanded comment brought Ezio up short, his anger fizzling out to sudden confusion. "You hated us?"

"Of course I did, Ezio," Claudia replied. "As far as I was concerned, you two were the reason I couldn't find a husband. Do you have any idea how difficult that is for a girl? To know that being a spinster and all the negative attention that entails is approaching? To know that your father had to buy someone off to marry you?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I was a child, I thought I was perfect and the rest of the world was composed of idiots. When Father and Federico and Petruccio died..." her face clouded, memory and pain twisting on her features. "I learned a lot when that happened."

Ezio marveled, staring at his sister. "... I never knew any of this..."

And Claudia gave him a smile that was almost sympathetic. "How could you?" she asked. "You never had to worry about your marriage, you had Cristina. And after... men don't _have_ to get married, Ezio, so it never concerned you."

… But it should have. He remembered how he felt when he saw his sister settling for Duccio, remembered the worry Maria brought to Giovanni over and over and _over_ about finding her a husband, remembered the long string of suitors that passed their doors. It had been a huge deal at the time, but Ezio was too busy with his own life, too busy with Cristina and practicing his French and running errands for his father. Claudia had been _grateful_ to Duccio for willing to be her husband; and Duccio demanding she open her legs for him before the wedding, forcing Ezio to throw him aside and put her future in jeopardy again... No _wonder_ she had a temper as a teen. And now Federica...

Ezio sighed, all the air exiting his lungs. He put his elbows at his knees and held his head, running his fingers through his hair before pulling at his hood.

After a long moment he looked up, watching Claudia from the other side of the desk. She was back to her books, letting him have his moment, face lost in concentration. Had it been a month since her birthday already?

"... I'm sorry," he said slowly, tired. "I'm sorry I missed your birthday."

Her quill froze, Claudia looking up to measure his sentiment.

"You always came when you were home," she said quietly, emotion struggling to bleed through her voice.

Ezio shook his head, looking down at his hands. "I have no excuse – not a good one, at any rate. You've seen this rotation of novices, they are difficult and frustrating, the French and Spanish assassins are having troubles, Machiavelli brought more news from Cesare, and Mother... and there's just so much to do. I can't seem to find the time, and when I do I lose track of it."

Claudia nodded, leaning back in her chair. "It wasn't easy, running _Zio_ Mario's accounts. No, you can't compare that. It isn't easy running the bordello," she amended, gesturing. "Even after two years I'm still fighting off the debt Madonna Solari accrued, and the girls always need pointers and tricks and lessons. Now that the clientele is regular, finding time to teach them is almost impossible; and that doesn't take in the new girls I have to bring in when one of them winds up dead in a gutter somewhere that I have to train from scratch. Then there's sifting through all the information they report to me and building up a map of the Vatican politics." She pointed to the book she had been working in.

"But you know what?" she asked, leaning forward, putting her elbows on the desk. "Every Sunday without fail, no matter what I'm doing, I go to church with Mother and Federica, and then we all have dinner together at the apartment. No work is discussed, and for a few hours, everything is like it used to be. Almost." She looked away, pained.

"I have a portrait," Ezio said, shifting his weight in his chair. "I painted it in December. I think you should have it."

Claudia smirked. "Is that my birthday present?"

He offered a faint, Florentine grin. "Yes."

* * *

Halfway through March the final rotation ended, and Ezio had his twelve novices all under one roof again. After over six months of training some of the changes were obvious: many of them were more fit than they had ever been in their lives, the women all carried a confidence in their steps that was rare to most underprivileged women, everyone carried themselves differently. Almost all of them could read, and fluently no less. Ezio mixed and matched them, assessing how their new skills suited them, deciding what his next course of action would be, when Lucia appeared again.

"_Maestro,_" she said smoothly. "The _maestra_ had sent me. One of my clients, a Senator, has given me some startling information. The Senator and I have uncovered the planned meeting place of the Borgia and the foreign ambassadors. You have killed the ambassadors," several novices smiled at their achievements, "now those who plotted with them must be stopped. They go to decide how to create a new net of ambassadors to corrupt; I can show you where, but I leave the rest to you. We must ride."

"Excellent," Ezio said. He turned to his novices. "All of you, saddle up, we're going for a ride."

Ezio learned over the next two hours that, even with Bartolomeo having trained them, some of the novices didn't have the faintest clue how to ride. He sighed, another item on his list.

By noon, Lucia reined in her horse, looking at Ezio and his entourage. "The villa is up this road," she said, pointing with her chin. "I cannot be seen beyond this point."

"_Grazie_," Ezio said, "For what you have done."

"I will return to Rosa in Fiore."

Ezio dismounted, his novices following suit. "Migliore, Filippo, Alighiero, I want you three to scout out the villa looking for all possible entry points. Sancia, Candida, Elda, Vittoria, learn the guard patrols; get some baskets, look like women on errands. Sozzi, Taddeo, Gaspare, Abate, pair off and try to scout out the nearby heights, anything for crossbows. Giordano, run between the three and keep me posted. Do you all understand?"

"_Si, Maestro._"

"Move."

The dozen disappeared, the girls lowering their hoods and shifting their clothes to look more like wives and mothers, Candida filching baskets from a stand and Vittoria filling them with some produce. They all giggled simultaneously, and in that instant they blended in with the crowds. They could stop and talk for hours, the guards none the wiser as they watched. His three best, Migliore, Filippo, and Alighiero also disappeared into the crowds, Alighiero with a bit of parchment and charcoal to draw or write down what he saw. Those three were his best students, the most well-rounded and the greatest potential; Ezio knew they were the best choice to find entrances and exits. He was most worried about Sozzi, Taddeo, Abate, and Gaspare. Gaspare and Sozzi were not the best climbers, not yet, and Taddeo was not the most observant, but sniping positions would not be the most critical part of the assault, at least for now. Giordano, he gave the only position he could do with any real skill.

Ezio would not be idle, either, and he scouted out a bell tower nearby and climbed it, calling on his eagle to make his own observations. The villa had an extravagant inner courtyard, and the wall surrounding the building was a testament to its wealth and also its privacy. It was a great location for the Borgia to meet and plan with no interruptions. He saw several perimeter guards and noted their locations, watching as the girls were doing the same and tracing out their routes. He saw the sniper group on the rooftops, overtly clumsy, and Ezio thanked God that there were practically no guards on the nearby roofs. It would have been a farce if there were. He did not see his primary scouts, and that was a testament to their skills. From his vantage point he saw several viable points of entry – especially at night, and made his notes, curious to see how his novices did with this test he had laid out for them.

There were no perfect places for snipers, he had expected as much this far into the country, and as he took stalk of the villa a plan began to formulate in his mind to use his novices. With so many he would have to vary how they entered, but there were at least three ways he could play this. Hm...

"_Maestro_?"

Blinking Ezio turned to see not Giordano but Enu, the dark skinned apprentice climbing the bell tower and marveling to see the master assassin. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Ezio gestured towards the villa. "We received word that a meeting was going to be held of Borgia men, to decide what ambassadors to next corrupt and use to build influence in other countries. You?"

"We've been trailing a papal guard," Enu said, joining his mentor. "He might have a connection to the Followers of Romulus, we wanted to see if he was going to meet them."

"Interesting," Ezio said, calling on his eagle, instantaneously seeing the flash of gold, the papal guard dressed as a merchant, riding up the path with an air of arrogance and entering the villa without even a glance of the guards. "Perhaps we can ascertain more if we capture some of these men alive. Are the others with you?"

"_Si, Maestro._ Vecellio and Varzi. The others are following a different lead."

"Good, have them make their own rounds. I want to see what the novices see, what you see, and compare them to what _I_ see. We'll rough out an assault at sunset."

"_Si, Maestro._"

As the sun began stretching the shadows and the air turned from chill to cold, Ezio gathered up almost his entire brotherhood and compared notes. The girls collectively had done an extremely impressive job; being together made them all feel more confident on the whole, and made them more observant. Ezio filed that information away for later. Migliore, Filippo, and Alighiero found the obvious entrances: weak walls, poorly patrolled areas, etc., and were impressed when the apprentices Vecellio, Varzi, and Enu spouted ideas on how to sneak in through the main gates. Ezio put them all to shame, however, when he pointed out the tunnels he had been rebuilding being connected to the waterways and therefore connected to the well of the villa. The sniper scouts did not find good vantage points, as Ezio expected, but the scenario gave them more robust life skills.

"Now," Ezio said, "How to we use this to our advantage?"

Ezio listened to several good plans, and finally issued his orders as the last of the sunlight fell.

"Enu, you're our best archer, take Sozzi and Migliore and Abate with you and position yourself. You will be our backup, if anything goes wrong, make it rain arrows and cover our escape. Varzi, take the girls and find courtesan costumes. Come in the main gate as an entourage looking for refuge for the night. Look like you've just come from a party, act drunk. Get to the kitchens and poison anything you can find. You know what to look for. If the assault fails, that, too, will be the fallback. Vecellio, take Taddeo, Giordano, and Filippo. After the girls have been in the villa for an hour, start a fight by the east gate, draw as many onlookers or participants as you can." He gave Vecellio a meaningful look, knowing he had given the apprentice the two idiots and silently ordering him to be very careful. "Alighiero, Gaspare, and I will sneak in through these three points," he added, pointing to the map. "We'll be responsible for the assassinations. The girls will join us when we've finished. Do we know how many men to expect?"

"A dozen, _Maestro_," Vecellio said. "Thirteen, with the papal guard."

Ezio nodded. "The papal guard is mine," he emphasized. "I want him _alive_, do you understand?"

Everyone nodded.

Two hours after the supper hour, Enu and his team was set up, and Ezio watched as Varzi and her girls stumbled their way up to the main gate, giggling and swaying and guzzling a bottle of wine. Elda sang a hymn of some kind, her voice clear even from where the master Assassin was standing. He watched, tense, ready to spring if anything went wrong, but the guards danced with the girls for several turns before letting them in, the captain himself leading him to a place to sleep. Ezio took a deep breath, glad the first phase went off without a hitch.

An hour later, Ezio was in a different location and watching as Vecellio began his diversion. The master assassin heard "Stop! Thief! _Bastardo_!" and watched Filippo run full tilt under lamplight, Giordano hot on his heels, and bowling over two of the guards. That was all Ezio had time to witness before he easily scaled the wall of the villa and landed in the deep shadows of the property, watching more guards be drawn into the conflict at the east gate and slipping from shadow to shadow before scaling the villa itself and landing in the inner courtyard. Alighiero was already there, his presence white to his eagle, and ten minutes later the scrivener Gaspare climbed out of the well.

They all nodded, and Ezio picked the lock to the villa, stepping aside and letting the other two sneak in. Alighiero was utterly silent, Gaspare less so but making up for it in alertness, and soon the three broke apart to do their dirty work.

The villa itself was massive, three stories and comprised of several wings. It was tedious to check every room on silent boots, avoiding the inside watch and then checking another room.

Eventually, Ezio came across one room with a light still on, he could see it spilling out from under the door frame. The door itself was locked, he could tell from silently testing it. Frowning, he tested the door to a different room and found it open. Sneaking in, Ezio jimmied the window open and looked about; there was a guard walking by, Ezio could no longer hear the sounds of a scuffle, meaning Vecellio's work was done. Swinging out of the window, Ezio easily found the right hand and foot holds to grip and started to edge his way to the next window over. The window was ajar, letting the cold air in, but he could smell the smoke of a fire inside. Peeking up over the lip, he saw two of the Borgia men by the fire, deep in conversation. The master assassin slowly worked the window further open – silently – and took another assessment of how to kill both men silently. If he could manipulate one of them to the door...

A low crash and a shouted curse erupted from somewhere, followed by a shriek, and any chance of things going smoothly just blew up in his face. Cursing, he hoisted himself into the room and pulled out a throwing knife, throwing it unfailingly at the first man even as he ran the five steps it took to overtake the second; the man barely had time to turn around before Ezio grabbed his shoulder and shoved his hidden blade into the soft tissues of the neck.

He waited a beat at the door, hearing more sounds of a scuffle, and saw four guards run down his hallway.

_Merda, merda, merda, merda, MERDA!_ What had happened?

He saw several men going to the halls, asking what was going on. Ezio sighed to himself and marched his way down on silent feet, his hidden blade stabbing one back after another, bodies falling within three steps of his leaving it to stab the next. He had four men down when anyone finally realized they were in danger. Then they started to run.

_Figli di puttana_!

A tiny growl escaped his throat as he gave chase, pulling out a throwing knife when a smoke bomb erupted, and Ezio could just barely see the outline of Alighiero. When the smoke dissipated, he gave a confused look to Ezio, but the master assassin shook his head, he didn't know what happened either.

"_Maestro,_ we have a problem."

"Varzi, what happened?"

"_Sancia_ happened, _Maestro_, she tripped entering a room and alerted the entire floor. She and Gaspare are trapped." The apprentice pulled up her courtesan corset again, free hand gripping a knife. "I don't know where the others are."

"If they're smart they're getting out of here," Ezio muttered, cursing. "Both of you, come with me."

Varzi and Alighiero flanking him, the master assassin strode down to the floor below. No less than a dozen guards were massed at the far end of a hall, Ezio could just make out a girl and a novice – Sancia and Gaspare. "Sneak up on them," Ezio whispered, knowing that stealth would give them the surprise necessary to kill in greater numbers. His ears picked up a different noise, and as his two companions advanced, Ezio glanced out a window to see a second scuffle, this time of Candida and Elda, in the courtyard. Ezio would have thought nothing of it, save for the fact that Elda was on her knees, swaying back and forth, leaving Candida to do the majority of the fighting in a low-cut corset. Cursing his bad lu_ck Christ this is turning into a total clusterfu_ck, Ezio glanced at Varzi and Alighiero and silently trusted them to handle the situation. He threw a knife into the back of one of the guards to help things along, and then yanked open a window and leapt, landing two stories below.

Drawing the sword of Altair, Ezio marched into the fray and stabbed one guard in the back, shoving his body away and slashing at another, drawing attention to himself to relieve the pressure off of Candida. He was a demon, slashing and hacking and weaving his way through the guards before they really understood what was happening. Two arrows appeared in the middle of the fray, and Ezio knew that Enu's group, at least, was doing their job properly.

"What happened?" he grunted, shoving a body off his blade.

"The captain of the guards," Candida said, dagger in one hand and the other trying to hold her corset together. "He found us in the halls and wanted to have us. I tried to distract him but-" a guard swung at the former courtesan and she gave a frustrated growl, throwing decency to the wind and fighting with both hands, her corset falling away and leaving her half naked in the fight. Several guards sputtered at the site, and that gave her the advantage she needed to slash at their throats and their abdomens, Ezio following in quick succession to finish off those that suffered an improper strike. More arrows were flying, and soon the courtyard was empty.

Ezio strained his ears, trying to listen for the inside even as he gave the two women orders. "Get to the tunnels," he said, "Meet back at the hideout."

"_Si, Maestro_," Candida said, pulling at the sobbing Elda and trying to coax her into the well at the center of the courtyard.

Ezio made his way back into the villa, climbing the stairs to where he had left the fight. Bodies were everywhere, but Varzi and the novices were nowhere to be seen. No noises could be heard except for his own bootfalls, so he made a sweep of the house as quickly as he could, finding several Borgia men in a meeting room, and all dead. _Someone_ had done their job, he thought, but he found no sign of the papal guard.

Unable to do more, Ezio leapt out a different window and climbed the villa walls, darting to the assigned meeting place. Vecellio's group was there, as was Enu's, but not the others. "What happened?" he demanded as soon as he arrived.

"Varzi took some of us back to the hideout," Vecellio said. "The scrivener was badly injured, as was the mute. She treated the injuries as best she could on site – I don't have the head for that yet and Enu wasn't here – and then went west. She wouldn't take the horses, she didn't want to draw attention to herself; I think she took the Terme di Diocleziano tunnel."

"When did she leave?"

"An hour ago. You were in there for a very long time, _Maestro._"

"What happened?" Enu asked softly.

"I don't know for certain, but when I do there will be _hell_ to pay," Ezio said. "Take the horses, spread out and take different routes back, no more than twos and threes. Be back at the hideout in two hours."

Ezio grabbed his own horse and pushed it into a full gallop. He wanted to get to the hideout first and attend to the injured, get Dante if he hadn't already been woken up, and find out what the _hell_ had gone wrong.

Machiavelli was waiting for him, silently guiding him to the largest room in the warehouse where Dante and everyone else was clustered around a fire while the doctor treated them. Elda was still rocking back and forth, whatever had happened to her still affecting her. Candida sported a bandage on her head and gauze on her arm as it hung in a sling. Alighiero held his side delicately, and Gaspare was stretched out on the floor, Dante giving orders to Sancia as he sewed the scrivener's stomach closed. They were a sight. Everyone looked up when the master assassin entered, and several looked away.

Ezio forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out before kneeling by Dante and asking what he could do.

By dawn the work was finally done.

It was also dawn when Vittoria, utterly forgotten about, wandered stiffly into the hideout white as a sheet, shivering with frozen fingers and toes, and collapsed to bed without a word. Ezio could find no wounds on her, neither could Dante, and for the moment they covered her in blankets and let her sleep.

"The woman who brought the others in," Dante said to Ezio privately, the two washing up after the prolonged surgery. "She did an excellent job treating them. We would have lost that boy if not for her work."

"I know," Ezio said, rubbing his eyes, exhausted.

"If the boy follows my instructions, he will make a full recovery. He is lucky."

"I know."

"_Maestro_..."

"_Si_?"

Dante looked at the master assassin for a long time, his mask loose by his chin. "Sleep, _Maestro_," he said, "Before you make any decision."

Everyone else in the hideout was, and Ezio agreed that it was for the best, and though he slept he did not rest; his dreams plagued with images: the slaughter he had committed on the bridge, the faces of his novices superimposed over the mass murder, watching his family hang, Cristina dying in his arms as she gave him his necklace, listening to Ulderico sacrifice himself, Mario being shot.

When he woke, he sought out the Florentine diplomat and explained everything he knew of what had happened: the plan, the reasoning behind splitting up the novices as he did, the crash and the fighting, the half-given story in the courtyard. "I need your help to find out what happened," he said finally.

Machiavelli's eyes narrowed. "What happened is that you trusted an important mission to incompetent people. Ezio, I've told you this before: the people will not help you. They cannot, because they cannot lift their heads enough to see the world as it truly is. Trying to teach them will only bring about catastrophes like this."

"I am not here to _argue_, Machiavelli, I'm asking for your _help_," Ezio hissed, his golden eyes dark and dangerous. "Do you disagree with me so deeply that you would watch me fail and do nothing to learn from it?"

The diplomat blinked. Nothing more. And, after a long pause, simply said, "As you wish."

"Then get the archers in here. We'll start with them."

Almost as soon as Machiavelli led in the four archers, the merchant Sozzi opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, _Maestro_," he said quickly, sitting in a chair and clutching his knees. "I think my arrow was the one that hurt Candida. I've never shot a bow at night, I thought I knew what I was looking at, but then she staggered back...! I didn't mean it, I swear! I compromised the Creed, I brought harm to the Brotherhood...!"

"Slow down," Ezio said, his voice clipped. "Start at the beginning."

Enu, the most experienced of the quartet, gave most of the report: watching the women enter, watching the diversion, and then seeing candles being lit one by one in a frantic hurry. Enu had already ordered bows ready when two of the women, entered the central courtyard, and the apprentice gave the order to fire. Sozzi panicked when he realized he had wounded a sister, and stopped firing for fear of doing more harm, leaving only three archers. No sooner had the scuffle in the courtyard been finished, however, when Varzi and her group came running out of the villa, several guards hot on her heels, that Enu and Migliore then put down. Ezio asked what Abate was doing.

"The guards were not the only ones running from the villa," he said with pride. "I saw some of the Borgia men escaping out the back, and I put them down."

"How did you know they were Borgia men?" Ezio asked.

Abate blinked. "They were from the villa. Of _course_ they were Borgia men."

Ezio's voice turned ice cold. "And if they were servants? Or stable workers? Or the _papal guard_?"

The novice gulped.

"And what about your own brothers and sisters who were in trouble? Did they mean nothing to you?"

"..."

"_Well?_" Ezio demanded in a deadly whisper.

"_M... Maestro,_ it was just the women. You already knew they weren't going to do much, just poison some food and bed the guards to keep the eyes off of you and Gaspare and Alighiero. If Sancia messed up again..."

"Finish that sentence," Ezio ordered.

Abate gulped again, shifting nervously in his chair. Ezio held the man's eyes with his molten glare for almost a full minute before he dismissed them. Then he leveled his glare to Machiavelli before the diplomat could say anything and sent for Vecellio's group.

Taddeo and Giordano, predictably, had little to say. Vecellio explained that the distraction went off without a hitch; he and Taddeo chasing after the extremely fast Giordano and Filippo, and how the scuffle drew quite the crowd before they dispersed. They heard the commotion in the villa, of course, and Vecellio had moved in to intercept the guards that were chasing Varzi's group when the archers wiped them out. Filippo confirmed that the papal guard had indeed been killed by an arrow. Afterwards the apprentice had ordered them to hide the bodies, which they had only just finished with the outside corpses when Ezio finally arrived at the meeting place. The master assassin had not even thought of that, and was even further impressed when Vecellio put in the work of hiding the bodies in the villa itself before returning.

Alighiero came in next and, mute as he was, came prepared with a bit of parchment explaining everything he saw and did the night before. He had managed to kill two men before the crash, and helped Varzi try and take down the guards assaulting Sancia and Gaspare, explaining how Sancia had once again famously tripped to push Gaspare into bad footing, leaving him wide open for the sword slash that Dante and Ezio had spent so much time trying to fix. With him down they were almost outnumbered, Alighiero had taken a blow to his ribs from a mace but persevered to kill two more guards. Varzi, the mute novice noted, was a marvel to behold.

Candida and Elda were next. The former nun sat forlorn in her chair, while the former courtesan sat with her back straight and her eyes looking straight ahead. "What happened?" Ezio asked.

"We were making our way along the north wing," Candida said with clipped tones, "when the captain that brought us in found us. I told him we were lost in the house looking for the latrine, and he made it _very_ clear that he wanted Elda here," she pointed with her chin, "to lay with him. I tried to distract him but he gave me this," she said pointing to the bandage on her head, "and almost took her. She was screaming blue murder by then and I had to slit his throat. Another guard saw it and it... degenerated from there."

Ezio's eyes flicked to Elda.

"_Maestro,_" she said, her voice low, desolate. "I am still married to the Lord. It will take time but I can kill for you, for Him. But I cannot... that is the one thing..." Her eyes filled with tears, and she hid her face behind her hands. "I'm sorry, _Maestro_, I thought I could do anything for you, but that... _that_... oh...!"

Ezio nodded, letting her have her cry, before dismissing them and called in Sancia and Varzi.

"We were working the west hall," Varzi said in clipped tones. "I knew she was clumsy, _Maestro_, but all she did when we were sneaking in was tripping. I thought it was a ploy for the guards, she's big enough that every stumble had her pop out and the men loved it, but then she started tripping in the halls. Even barefoot she made noise and I had to stay with her to keep her from making even more of it. I had finally gotten us to the third room when she fell _over a chair_. I had managed to hide behind a corner in shadow, but she just giggled and tried to play it off as being lost."

"I even tried to seduce them..." Sancia offered quietly.

"No," Varzi corrected, utterly fed up. "You tried to get close to them, and then you let them see the knife in your bodice." She turned back to Ezio. "The guards were there in seconds, I knew I had to get help. I passed Gaspare on my way to you and told him what happened. What that fool boy sees in her I don't know. Alighiero and I were able to clean up the mess, but we were made when I was trying to get them out because Sancia _fell down the stairs_. That was when Gaspare was wounded. The others can tell you what happened after that."

"I'll try harder next time..."

"For the love of _God_, girl," Varzi said, swinging her head to eye her again. "If you try even harder one of us will wind up dead."

Ezio waited until he was alone with Machiavelli. "So," he said, "Once we were in the house, Sancia tripped and alerted the Borgia that we were there; Varzi went to get help while Gaspare tried to help fend off the guards. While this was going on Elda was attacked and Candida had to do the heavy lifting because of the trauma. Varzi and Alighiero save Sancia and Gaspare, but the girl trips down the stairs in the escape to make more noise, and somehow manages to accidentally shove Gaspare into a swordpoint. The archers try to handle both blowouts, but Sozzi hits Candida and is overcome with self-doubt, and that _testa di cazzo_ Abate fires at fleeing men, killing the papal guard we wanted. Vecellio cleans up the bodies after all is said and done. What do you think?"

"I think the Sancia girl is a disaster waiting to happen. She has been training for six months, yes? She's been to Bartolomeo and Volpe. What did they say about her?"

"That she tried hard," Ezio said with muted Florentine irony.

"Get rid of her," Machiavelli said. "She's of no use to you."

"That remains to be seen."

"What? You want her to be responsible for nearly killing someone else?"

"_No_," Ezio said emphatically, "But I don't want to dismiss her out of hand without knowing for certain if there isn't something she can do for us. The Borgia hung her family, nearly killed her as well; she _needs_ to do something constructive or she'll try to kill herself again like when we found her. If she's not meant for field work, there are other things she can do, spying, observation, bribery. I want to explore all the avenues. I want _them_ to know I'm exploring all avenues."

"And just what good will that do, Ezio?" Machiavelli asked. "Do you think they will feel grateful, knowing you tried your best, when she gets someone else nearly killed like Gaspare? Do you think them loving you will change anything?"

"It's not a popularity contest," Ezio said, shaking his head. "I don't care if they love me or hate me; but I _do_ care that they know the truth. They have been lied to for so long that they don't even know the truth when they see it, they don't even realize how much they've been wronged – and they've lost _family_ to the Borgia. It has to start somewhere, Machiavelli, otherwise it won't start at all, and then what's the point of being an Assassin? No, I'll think of something for her."

"...Fine. Abate is a problem, too. He does not follow the Creed."

"I agree," Ezio said. "That is something I cannot overlook. How would you suggest correcting him? Or would you have me cast him out?"

Machiavelli paused, leaning back in his chair for a moment. "Construct a scenario where he has to be saved by one of the girls. That _might_ sway him, or at least give him food for thought. His ego needs to be damaged, badly, before he will truly learn anything, though."

"Agreed. And Gaspare?"

"Lust or otherwise, he held up to the Creed."

Ezio nodded. "And who stood out to you?"

Machiavelli frowned. "Just them."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Who else was there?"

"So, Enu saving Varzi and the others did not strike you? Nor did Vecellio disposing of the bodies when no one else thought of it, nor Varzi having enough presence of mind to go for help and then treat the wounded before coming back here? Did they not provide shining examples of following the Creed? Should their bravery not be rewarded?"

"With what?"

"_Maestro_?"

The two looked up to see Vittoria, still sleep tousled but with much better coloring, rubbing her eyes and standing in the doorway. "Vecellio said to come see you as soon as possible..." she said slowly, still trying to wake up. With a gesture Machiavelli was up and guiding her to sit down.

"We're trying to learn what happened last night," Ezio said softly. "You didn't come back until dawn, we were very worried about you."

Still rubbing at her face, she struggled to sit up properly. "I'm not sure what there is to tell," she said slowly. "After Varzi lead us in, we split up to help with the assassinations. I heard a ruckus on the second floor, but I was on the third and in the middle of a room. I had to kill him very quickly, and then... most of the men were still asleep, and I knew I had to work very fast. I killed as many as I could, there weren't any guards upstairs; I guess they were all down where the trouble was. Several men were in one room holding a meeting of some kind. They saw me. That was... hard," she said, a ghost of an expression crossing her face, "and after that there more noises, this time outside. I couldn't find anybody else to kill, so I hid on the roof until everything calmed down. It was so cold up there... even by the chimneys... When it started to get light I made it back here."

Ezio stood, moving around his desk and sweeping the girl in a tight, warm hug. She was still cold, and the master assassin held his prize novice for a long time, willing his warmth to penetrate her, before sending her back to bed.

The next day he sent letters out to Volpe and Bartolomeo, and two weeks later they were both gathered in the largest room of the warehouse. Arianna had surprised them all with delivering ornate, beautifully hand stitched tapestries for the hideout, and Ezio had them all hung in the cavernous space, the reds giving everything a rich, warm feeling. Reflected with the golden candlelight, and the effect was even stronger, and so all the novices, sans the healing Gaspare, stood at attention, eying the brazier curiously as it burned.

"_Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine,_" Ezio said, his rich baritone solemn, sober. "These are the words spoken by our ancestors - and lay at the heart of our Creed."

"Where men hold power over others, we remind them that they are merely men," Volpe said. "Where nobility are bigoted, we teach them the real nobility."

"Where justice is ignored, we fight for what is right," Bartolomeo said. "Where people are owned, we reveal the freedom of choice."

"Where ignorance is prevalent, we imbue knowledge," Machiavelli said.

"We are Assassins," Ezio said, voice carrying over everyone.

Machiavelli stepped forward, his face intent. "Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember:"

"...Nothing is true," the novices said.

"Where other men are limited, by morality or law, remember:"

"...Everything is permitted."

"We work in the dark to serve the light," Ezio said. "We are Assassins." He raised his hands and gestured for Vecellio, Varzi, and Enu to step forward. Their hoods were down, faces visible for all to see, as they stepped up to the dais and the brazier. Machiavelli stepped back, and Ezio took the iron tongs. "It is time," he said softly. And in perfect unison all three held out their left hands. And, slowly, with great care, Ezio branded them. They all hissed, and Machiavelli immediately provided water for their new injuries as Ezio replaced the brazier.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

They went up to the roofs, and one by one he watched the apprentices take a Leap of Faith into the Tevere.

It was different... being on the other side of the initiation. Ezio still remembered his like it was yesterday, seeing all of his teachers, the words of wisdom that they brought with them, the truth that they spoke, the _feeling_ of being an Assassin. Now... he imagined he felt like a father would. He had been training these three for almost two years, learned about them, learned from them, watched them grow from their half trained skills to competent people who had lead a collection of novices through a difficult ordeal. Vecellio had made improvements in his temper, Enu's cool collected presence soothed everyone, Varzi was always surprising someone with her skill. They were ready for this.

They were _ready_.

And all Ezio could feel was pride.

Did Mario feel that way, when Ezio was inducted?

"_When you first came to me, nipote, you couldn't fathom things outside your own pain. Your __only focus was running to Spain with Maria and Claudia and hiding. Then, you were only focused on __avenging Giovanni and your brothers - a righteous goal, but one very selfish. Now you've saved Firenze, and Venezia, for the sake of their people instead of your own goals. Even your pursuit of the Spaniard, it was to prevent him from getting the Piece of Eden, over your wish for revenge... We couldn't have hoped for a greater change. You've made me, all of us, very proud._"

And the master assassin smiled, taking a leap himself, enjoying the sensation.

* * *

The next day he explained the next rotation. Gaspare would be laid up for at least two to three months, but the others now faced new groups and new rotations.

Ezio put the girls, Candida, Elda, Sancia, and Vittoria, all in one group and sent them back to Claudia. Their best work had been done together, and Ezio wanted to give them confidence before stepping up the more rigorous work of being an assassin. He also wanted a thorough analysis from his sister about what Sancia could be capable of, since he knew her only possible option was to be a spy of some kind. He also hoped being at the bordello would ease the former nun Elda into overcoming her near-rape. Ezio did not have the skills to handle that, and foisted the task off to those better equipped. He pulled Candida and Vittoria aside and let them know they were the mentors of the group. The former courtesan could roll with the unexpected, and Vittoria had proven herself to be the most resolute of all the recruits.

To Volpe he sent the master thief's former apprentice Filippo, Migliore, Alighiero, and the dimwit Giordano. They were the fastest of the twelve. His three best recruits needed intensive training in their climbing first. If they could _get_ anywhere, Ezio could theoretically _send_ them anywhere. He also sent a message with them to test Giordano's skills as a courier.

To Bartolomeo he sent Abate, Taddeo, and Sozzi, with specific instructions to break Abate to pieces and to build back Sozzi's confidence, and for all of them to get extra drills in archery. Pantasilea sent back a note saying Bartolomeo would take great pleasure in his instructions. Ezio felt no sympathy for them whatsoever.

With the men all gone, Ezio focused on watching the girls at the bordello, hidden, to see what he could do. Sancia took to the assignments enthusiastically, and really did "try hard," as Volpe and Bartolomeo had said, but there was a general lack of coordination that the poor girl simply couldn't get over. Even teaching her to dance did not help. Her mind wasn't particularly quick, and while she was no dimwit like Giordano or Taddeo, she did not pick up on underlying subtleties of looks and nonverbal forms of communication. She had no idea when she was annoying or irritating others, and retribution only made her try even harder. Ezio's eyes narrowed, when he finally realized the problem, and he pulled her aside.

"Why are you trying so hard?" he asked, late at night when the others were asleep.

"... Because I have to," she said slowly, uncertain if that was the right answer.

"And why do you 'have' to?" the master assassin pressed.

The girl became very quiet very quickly, her gaze disappearing into memory, before a tear rolled down her cheek. Ezio hadn't expected that, but waited for her to come to her own answer. "I always tried so hard," she said finally, looking down as another tear joined the first. "I was the youngest of six girls, did you know that? There was no money left for my dowry; I was always trying to please, trying to impress, trying to be whatever it was they wanted to be. I even tried to stop them from hanging. Then I was trying to keep the _padrone_ of the house happy, but I was always breaking glasses or walking into rooms when I shouldn't. It just made me try harder. _Maestro_, if I can't do this... there's nothing left for me."

Ezio nodded. "Then stop trying."

"... What?"

"I cannot ascertain what you can do, Sancia, if you keep trying to do what you _think_ I want you to do. I cannot know what your skills are, if you are trying to be skilled in things that are obviously beyond you. Be yourself, do only what you think you can do, and we can work from there."

She nodded, sated for the time, and Ezio watched her in the bordello and his afternoon lessons. Her clumsiness was still apparent, but slowly the master assassin was able to realize the girl had perfect recall, and he filed that away for later consideration. Elda, meanwhile, recovered from her ordeal when Ezio wasn't looking; and he assumed that was the mystery of women and left it at that. Candida and Vittoria excelled of course, and Ezio watched his first recruit blossom into a confident woman, slowly becoming secure in her femininity and accepting the work she was doing.

Outside of the bordello, Ezio taught them about the history of the Brotherhood, using them as a test to see if he could present it well enough to beat it into a certain novice's head. He shared what he remembered of Altair's Codex, talking about how women were first introduced to the Brotherhood and showing them how to use atypical ways of blending in, how to find hay stacks or flower bins or rooftop gardens in a pinch or why it was so important to run in anything but a straight line. Gaspare took part in these lessons, too, laid up as the former scrivener was, and drank in every word.

While they were working, Ezio visited his new blacksmith Etienne. His business was flourishing on the island, filling a niche and happy for the work. "I owe you so much, _Monsieur_," he said.

"_Bene,_" Ezio nodded. "I was wondering. I used to have a smith to make... specialized items. He is now indisposed, and I find I need a replacement."

"Then, I am your man, _Monsieur_."

"Then you would not mind if I saw samplings of your best work?" And with that Ezio gave him Leonardo's outlines for crafting that would assess the man's talent. If the painter approved, Ezio would give him the plans for the hidden blade and the poison darts.

When he came back, he saw Machiavelli rushing to get out of the hideout.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked.

The diplomat turned bright red. "Nowhere."

Ezio grinned. "At _least_ tell me her name!"

"... Marietta Corsini."

"Well, then, where has she been hiding?"

"Ezio..."

"No, I'm serious," Ezio said, his rich baritone light and flirtatious. "I don't think I've ever seen you so happy. Where have you been keeping her? When do I get to meet her?"

His sour face could not hide the blush getting even redder, and Machiavelli finally resigned himself to his fate. "I'm going home to Firenze," he said, "to marry her."

And Ezio was flabbergasted for all of five seconds before he burst out laughing and clapped the diplomat on his back. "Good for you, Niccolò!" he said brightly. "Enjoy it for me, would you? Drink lots of wine, and make sure to kiss her thoroughly. I can more than give you advice for your wedding night-"

"_Ezio_."

But the master assassin's smile was softer now, his eyes more pained. "I'm serious, Machiavelli. Enjoy it. Enjoy _her_. Don't waste one minute of it thinking about anything other than her. You'll never have a time like this again. I don't expect to see you for at least six months. Alright?"

Machiavelli assessed Ezio, eyes narrow with suspicion, before comprehension caught up to him. Back straightening, hands clasped behind his back, he nodded. "Alright," he said, the word heavy in his mouth.

Ezio spent the night on the roof of the warehouse, staring north to Castel Sant'Angelo, thinking about Cristina.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Nine whole reviews! We haven't had that since, like AC1! Thanks guys!

And so we now know all twelve novices, and as a bonus we see them all work together - with the apprentices no less - to perform an assault. And we see how they all do - or don't - work together. Some of the names are starting to stand out - Abate is going to have his own little arc later, Sancia gets some development, as does Gaspare and Vittoria, Sozzi has a setback, etc, etc, etc. If you can read through that list of names and know who everyone roughly is, then we're doing our job right. We have a big time skip to cover - but it isn't so big that we can languish in twelve novices as they develop, and so this is sort of a highlights reel. We hope you enjoy.

Some of you talked about abject fear of some of the novices dying after all the time we're spending on developing them. (whistles innocently). Like the song says, life _is_ what happens when Ezio's busy making other plans...

And a certain trio of apprentices are promoted to assassins. That's not epic and poignant and touching on Ezio's own initiation. Nope, not at all. If _that's_ as emotional as it is, just imagine when _Claudia_ gets inducted... :P

Federica is going through her adolescence over the course of Brotherhood, in all its hormone induced glory. Poor Ezio. Poor Claudia, she deals with her every day. But they're getting just a little bit closer, those two...

And Machiavelli does get married sometime in 1502. He's so cute about it.

And oh yeah. That painter showed up. Hello Leo! We've missed you! Ezio missed you! And _you_ certainly missed _Ezio_. One of our betas was crying tears of happiness at that scene, we hope the rest of you enjoyed it just as much.

Next chapter: Desmond. And Ezio paints a portrait - and we all know that _that_ means...


	10. Loss and Learning

**Part Ten: Loss and Learning**

May brought a slew of contracts from Machiavelli – much to Ezio's consternation, with a note saying that one of his leads had finally born fruit, hence the list. Ezio recalled Vecellio and the others back from the countryside, telling them they had their pick of novices to use for the names. Enu took his former archers: Migliore and Sozzi, as well as the mute Alighiero. Varzi took Vittoria and Candida, to be expected, and the former thief Filippo. Vecellio thought for a long time before suggesting the odd combination of Taddeo and Elda.

It took a week to gather all the novices, and Ezio spent the next week on the roof of the warehouse, staring out at the Vatican, and trying to work through the nervous energy that consumed him. He hoped having the assassins pick their teams would help things run more smoothly. It did.

Sozzi, devastated with his injuring a fellow novice, came back with an air of pride; Alighiero had become close to Migliore, and Filippo returned with, to use his words, "a greater understanding of the mystery of women." The real surprise was Vecellio's pair, however. He had them pose as a married couple, and because of that discovered that their skills complemented each other well. Elda, quicker to pick up on subtleties and targets, could walk with confidence that the former nun usually didn't have because Taddeo made a show of protecting her from _everyone_, utilizing his muscle in intimidation instead of bloodbaths and giving him a new understanding of the power he actually had. It was a miracle hit.

When Gilberto arrived at the end of the month with the rest of the rotation, he had glowing reviews for his group. "They are almost as fast as us, now," he said without exaggeration. "Giordano is a sight to behold when he runs, and he has a natural skill for climbing. He'll make an excellent messenger or courier, once his memory is improved. The others, I can see why you sent them to me; they are exceedingly well rounded."

"I know," Ezio said without a hint of irony.

"Migliore is bright," the master thief added. "He discovered one of the Cento Occhi leaders has worked his way into our own guild."

Ezio blinked. "_Really_?" he asked.

"Let me finish," Volpe said, raising a hand, "Migliore not only told me about it, but under his own initiative tracked the imposter down and killed him, without thought to his own safety; he did it simply out of duty. That is a rare thing indeed, and I'm sorry you got to him before me. I enjoyed watching that one eyed _bastardo_ get his throat cut."

The master assassin nodded, and soon Bartolomeo was arriving with his rotation as well.

"I swear, Ezio, that little shitface Abate doesn't even know what the sun looks like his head is so far stuck up his ass, but I broke him into tiny little pieces. I had a bet going with my lieutenants to see who could break him first, and I made quite a lot of money! He'll know better than to disobey a direct order ever again! And that Sozzi, that mission you pulled him for did him good; he's also an accomplished rider, now, and I've never seen a boy take to archery with such gusto. His use of a shaft ought to impress many ladies. How are the girls progressing? I'm looking forward to teaching them hand to hand combat!"

And so Ezio handed out the orders for the next rotation. Bartolomeo's group rotating to Volpe so that the master thief could further teach Abate a lesson and improve their climbing now that their muscles were better developed while Volpe's runners were given to Ezio and Claudia for finer education, and the girls were sent to Bartolomeo with their new confidence to learn more nuanced combat.

In between all the training, Ezio had one of the recruits break into Leonardo's studio and plant a note. So one evening, Ezio was calmly sitting on a bench up on one of the hills of Roma, looking down on the splendor of the city when Leonardo arrived, heaving a great sigh about long walks to find decent paint supplies.

Glancing around, Ezio looked with his eagle and found no sign of guards.

"How _did_ you find my studio?" Leonardo asked with a wry grin.

Ezio offered his own grin. "Do you truly wish to know?" he raised a brow.

Leonardo let out a long, quiet laugh. "My friend, how I've missed you."

The Florentine Assassin leaned back, his shoulders dropping in relaxation for the first time since probably the attack at Monteriggioni. "I have samples of my prospective blacksmith's work," he said quietly, handing over a bag of the samples.

The painter and inventor eagerly started pulling things out, carefully examining them and pulling out odd tools that always overflowed from his pockets. "Very good work," he said lightly, his eagerness back in his work. "I'd like to meet this man if I could and discuss his methods. There's a secondary metal in here and I've never seen anything like it."

"He is a Frenchman."

"And quite brilliant in his own right! If he knows how to mix metals like this, that might help refine some of the designs!" Leonardo pulled out another sample and held it up to the light. "Maybe a hidden crossbow? Similar to a gun, but quieter. Though impact would be sacrificed. You can't deny the power a bullet packs."

Ezio smiled, listening as his oldest and dearest friend chattered on with anything that caught his whims. Etienne would soon be brought into the fold to smith proper blades for his novices. Poison would certainly be useful, especially for any who showed aptitude for hiding in the crowds. Ezio would be more careful with the hidden gun, simply because of its power, but it was good to know he had a blacksmith again.

"I heard an interesting rumor at Il Vaticano," Leonardo said quietly, his demeanor shifting to something more quiet.

"Oh?"

"Word has it that his Holiness is looking at a German scholar who's been digging into histories he shouldn't."

Ezio frowned.

"Conradus Celtes," Leonardo pronounced carefully. "He's a humanist, an old friend of Lorenzo de Medici, I hear, and a fancy poet. They say he's going to write a history of a secret order that's survived for hundreds of years that slay demons in shadows. An order dressed in white, faces always obscured, who call forth heaven's fire to take down the enemies."

Ezio's frown deepened. Most of it was fantasy, but the tiny grain of truth that existed was enough for Ezio to know he'd have to look into it. He'd send Enu with some of the novices to investigate.

"I doubt such a book will ever be published," Ezio replied.

Leonardo only nodded.

Which just made Ezio smile. "So tell me how the Vaticano is treating you? Have you gotten a raise at all?"

Leonardo scoffed, launching into another set of ramblings and Ezio just listened, relishing in the friendship.

The first week of August, the novices he'd sent out with one of his apprentices finally returned, bringing news that the scholar had been spoken to. Celtes, it seemed, was a firm supporter of the Assassins. So much so that the rumors of his research into them had nothing to do with working for the Templars, but entirely with how he wanted to publish a proper history to show the world what the Assassins did to save them and to properly defame the Templars and bring their evil deeds to light.

Ezio was amused greatly by this.

Celtes had been convinced that such a publishing would do more harm than good, and once he was properly linked with the local Assassins, he promised to be a help with all his research.

The heat, as usual for the month, was unbearable. Dante had to be summoned briefly when, after a long day of work, Migliore completely collapsed in a fever after absorbing too much heat of the day. The doctor concocted some potion and told Ezio flat out not to push so hard in such heat without water breaks. Ezio acknowledged he needed to keep a closer eye on _idioti_ that didn't stop for breaks when he called for them.

Pantasilea dropped by briefly with news, and also to take a small break from being around all the mercenaries for a week or so, and her children were soon running underfoot with Ezio happily having his novices corral them.

By happenstance, Gilberto arrived as well and chuckled at the children running around, having escaped the many novices again. Ezio guided the thief to his office, where Pantasilea was lounging with a book before she headed out to meet Claudia for dinner. "Volpe," she greeted demurely.

"_Madonna_," Gilberto replied, taking the other chair while Ezio seated himself behind his desk.

"So, how can I help?"

Gilberto sipped his cool wine and took a moment to savor it. "How does destroying the Cento Occhi sound?"

Ezio leaned forward. "Intriguing."

"With your help," Volpe started, "our rivals and the Borgia have become more and more at odds. With tension between them, the Cento Occhi have been decreasing in numbers as my men take them out and set them up to be caught and captured. By hard work and a strong touch of luck, we have found where the leaders will be meeting." The Fox's grin was downright predatory.

Pantasilea offered polite goodbyes, saying that such a discussion would make her late for Claudia and that she didn't want her curious children overhearing anything. Ezio walked her and her children out and returned to start planning with Volpe.

At the end of the week, the three leaders of the Cento Occhi would be meeting out in the countryside, at a stable near some ancient ruins. So Ezio sent out his novices and apprentices to scout the area and start making plans. He took the time to check in with Vecellio and his team to see if there was any success with the Followers of Romulus. It seemed they were getting rumors of a possible base, but pinpointing it was proving elusive. That was fine, and he kept them at it. The more the countryside didn't have to worry about thieves and brigands, the sooner they'd start worrying about the _real_ problem of Rome: the Borgia.

The stables where the meeting was to take place was well stocked with horses and Ezio could not see how this was going to work without needing horses of their own. While some, like Sozzi, were good riders, many of his recruits just couldn't handle horses very well. Gaspare and Abate were decent enough, and Vittoria and Candida were quick learners, but Elda, Sancia, Migliore had never ridden before and only barely able to control their animals. Taddeo was completely hopeless, barely able to even mount, which left Ezio with a difficult task of planning around either making sure the thieves' leaders didn't escape, or some sort of contingency on if they _did_ end up mounted.

It was one of the apprentices that pointed out an abandoned market square that was partially collapsed, making an almost perfect dead-end for an ambush. Once Ezio realized that, he started formulating a plan.

Gaspare, Sozzi, and Candida would come with him to the stables. Rather than try and plan around whether or not the Cento Occhi leaders would end up mounted, Ezio instead decided to use horses to their advantage and get them to that ruined market square. There, there would be no one to raise an alarm and they could take out the leaders without hindrance. Once the four of them set the leaders running out the only exit of the stables (that they'd allow), a small ambush with Filippo, Vittoria, Abate, and Giordano would send the leaders down the small path to the square, where the apprentices and the rest of his novices would be waiting. Horses and men alike would fall under such a storm of arrows.

Ezio made sure his novices checked their horses thoroughly the day of their attack, oiled their weapons, checked their saddles, and that those at the ruined square had all the arrows and throwing knives they needed. The horses of the leaders would likely die as well, but that would be a small price to pay. Ezio was earning enough now that he might even be able to reimburse the stables.

So the afternoon of the meeting (Ezio had to chuckle at that. A certain Fox had made things so difficult that the leaders wouldn't even meet at night), Ezio and three of his novices watched as the three leaders of the Cento Occhi entered. One was properly dressed like a thief. One looked like a merchant, likely to sell the stolen goods. And the third was a mercenary guard that was far too thin and wiry to actually be a mercenary.

Ezio turned to Candida, Sozzi, and Gaspare. "Are we ready?" he asked silently.

"Yes, _Maestro_," they all replied.

"We'll give them ten minutes to settle, then enter."

On silent feet, they all snuck in, each covering a possible escape route, leaving only the one that would send the leaders down the road Ezio had chosen.

Ezio appeared first, his novices seconds later. "Well, it's nice to see you finally made it," he greeted the Cento Occhi leadership.

Their targets stood there agape for a moment, shocked as they were almost surrounded by Assassins.

Their best response was to hop onto their horses and flee. Just as they wanted.

Ezio chuckled. Their own horses were right outside, saddled and ready, and Ezio leapt up over the rear of his horse and kicked the flanks hard, spurring his horse right into a gallop as they chased after them. Per the plan, Ezio and his novices kept close enough to keep their targets panicked, but far enough back that they didn't feel hopeless. Sozzi on horseback was a marvel, firing off arrows while riding at full speed and keeping the horses of the thieves scared.

After two miles of the chase, the thieves found Filippo and his group bearing down from ahead of them, Vittoria and Abate firing arrows and Giordano keeping their horses steady.

The horses froze, and one of the leaders, the one dressed as a thief, fell from Sozzi's well-placed arrow. The merchant and mercenary, still scared, turned down a narrow alley, just as Ezio had wished, and the two groups of Assassin's combined in chasing after them.

Ten miles away, Ezio knew, was a Borgia tower. Vecellio had already mentioned it as a good place to take down, but in all the searches for the Followers of Romulus, the three full Assassins Ezio had simply didn't have the time to take down the tower. But it was ten miles away and would never be able to send reinforcements to their pet thieves in time.

But Ezio hadn't counted on patrols. Or rather, he didn't predict a patrol this far out. Racing down the alley, all the guards saw was a merchant and mercenary being hounded by eight people firing arrows at them.

Really, given how it looked, it wasn't a surprise that the patrol kicked their own horses and took off in pursuit. Now Ezio had arrows coming from his rear even as he fired ahead of him.

"Sozzi, Giordano! Take out that patrol! Filippo, keep back if they need a hand!"

They all nodded and broke off, spinning their horses to handle the pursuing guards. Ezio hated to lose Sozzi, who was incredible with an arrow now, but his horsemanship would be better in facing a mounted patrol.

The ruined square was ahead, and once there, the men fell to arrows. Ezio and those still with him hung back, not wanting to get caught in the cross fire. Surprisingly, the mercenary thief used the body of his fellow thief as a shield as he tried to maneuver through the market.

The dead thief's horse fell halfway through the square as arrows continued to rain down, but Ezio's sharp eyes soon saw what the mercenary thief was heading for: a narrow alley just off the corner of the market partially buried in rubble, where Migliore was stationed. But Migliore's crossbow seemed to have jammed and he wasn't firing arrows in the storm around the mercenary.

With a cry of triumph, the mercenary thief kicked his horse, dropping his co-leader when there was a pause as several of his novices reloaded their arrows.

"_No_!" Ezio shouted, kicking his own horse and racing across the square.

But Migliore, one of the shining stars of all his novices, was no match for a horse galloping right at him with no room to jump aside. He was knocked down and trampled; the mercenary then throwing a knife down to finish the job.

Ezio kicked harder, racing forward.

No! Ezio didn't want another death of one of his own. Migliore may not be family, may not even be someone Ezio was close to, but the former merchant was his nonetheless. When given a choice, Migliore had decided that he was willing to kill, to fight, to protect, and had continued to prove himself committed to the task even without an instructor nearby. He was one of the best of the novices! He couldn't die! Not now! Not like this! Not being trampled like dirt by a panicked horse ridden by a cowardly thief! _No_!

He was one of the best novices. And, broken and dying, Migliore pulled out the knife that gleamed in the setting sun, and threw it with a precision that was shocking in his current state, slicing the thief's horse's leg.

Sweat dripped into Ezio's eyes and he slowed his horse enough to wipe it away and then took off. Elda was already racing across the square to take care of Migliore, screaming something, and Ezio left her to it, his blood boiling.

The thief's horse was lame, and Ezio was an expert on his own animal. He was swiftly catching up, but there was a problem. The thief had found the horses of his novices and had taken one, clumsily jumping from his horse to the new, fresh one, and then kicking hard.

Damn it! This _figlio di puttana_ wouldn't get away!

Behind him several of his novices spurred on after him, but Ezio was already far ahead, keeping that _fucking asshole_ of a thief in his sight.

Ezio spurred his horse on faster, but they were seven miles from the Borgia tower now. It was a race to safety with Ezio's tired horse that had been running full tilt and the thief and his fresh, stolen horse.

And just to put things to an even better place, another patrol of guards stumbled upon the chase.

Ezio ignored the thundering hooves all around him, his focus solely targeted on that _bastardo_ who had killed one of his novices, one that he had offered a dangerous life and who chose to do so willingly. A young merchant who would _not_ die in vain.

Behind him he could hear death cries, his novices taking care of his pursuers. Some shouted encouragement, and he'd speak to them later about being stealthy, even in battle, but that was a fleeting thought as he pushed his horse even harder. The thief's horse might be fresher, but the thief wasn't a good rider. The horse was a skittish sort and kept veering away from the road leading to the Borgia tower. Ezio, however, was the complete master of his horse, the beast not even flinching when arrows sped by from his pursuers.

Slowly, Ezio crouched on his saddle as his horse got closer, and, free of the stirrups, he leapt, hidden blade extended, and landed on the back of the mercenary thief's saddle. Behind he heard epitaphs of surprise, but he ignored them, intent on his boiling rage. The blade tasted the man's neck, digging deep, and as the skittish horse panicked, trying to rear to remove the extra weight, Ezio shoved the deadweight off and settled into the saddle, kicking the horse and turning him off to the darkening ruined streets and out to the fields beyond.

He let the horse go as it pleased for a while, letting it calm down and work out the nervous energy, before reestablishing who was boss and guiding the horse back to the rendezvous point.

The sun was just setting and Ezio had pushed his hood back just to wipe his sweat with a handkerchief. Really, he shouldn't be so tired after all of that.

At the rendezvous, Ezio sadly saw that Migliore wasn't the only loss his novices had suffered. Giordano had fallen as well, from the first patrol that had chased after them.

Ezio shook his head. Two novices down. One, a competent quick learner that would go places. One, not very bright, but second only to Ezio in speed among their Order that had the makings of a great courier.

All of them, Ezio, novices, and apprentices, carefully buried them in the darkness of the night. Ezio took their hoods, and let out a soft, sad, sigh. With heavy hearts they returned to the hideout, and Ezio took them all up to the roofs with a brazier. The apprentices knew what he was doing, and helped him set everything up.

The hoods burned quickly, in the warm night. Behind him, some of the novices were crying. Perhaps they realized just what would happen to them in this type of life. Perhaps they'd slip off in the night. Ezio would understand, and he wouldn't hold it against them. He chose this life for revenge. So did the novices. But he was also bound by family and so many parts of his life that he wondered if he could ever truly leave the Assassins behind. The novices were new to this. They didn't have the bonds.

But that night, Ezio realized much later, _was_ a bond. Perhaps the first, but it bonded all novices together.

As Elda lifted her voice in song, a hymn of sadness over the death of Christ, several others joined in.

And they all mourned.

* * *

Ezio spent September by his paints, working on the portraits of Giordano and Migliore, committing every detail he knew to canvas. The sadness ached, but he kept at it. The novices had split up back to their training, but the apprentices were promoted to assassins.

Ezio thought long and hard, and, after this rotation, he'd promote Filippo, Alighiero, and Vittoria to apprentices.

The month remained quiet, for which Ezio was grateful with his heavy heart. He walked around town, still helping out shop-owners and injecting money into the economy, resulting in getting more back. Now that he finally had florins to spend, Ezio often found himself in various bookstores. His novices couldn't train all day every-day, and now that they knew how to read, Ezio intended to show them the wonder of reading beyond politics or scrolls that might need copying one day. It also gave Ezio a chance to catch up on reading he'd wanted to do but never had the time for. As he got older, he found he liked just spending a quiet moment in the sun or by the fire and letting words take him to a world that was not so sad or depressing. To escape for a short time, from the sorrow he lived with almost every day.

Etienne was thrilled with the challenge of the hidden blades, and poison darts, and soon Ezio was training his novices in new skills with what they were already learning. With five full Assassins, Ezio also had Vecellio prepare to take down a Borgia tower, so that he had a place to send apprentices in the countryside to keep learning. Also, more help in hunting down the Followers of Romulus would likely be useful.

The master mason Ezio had discreetly hired for the tunnels was nearing completion, and Ezio kept checking and mapping, leaving little symbols for the Brotherhood, so that they would not be lost.

And, on a whim, one evening when Ezio found himself too sad to paint and too antsy to just sit around the hideout and read and too impatient to teach, he wandered the streets and bought a ticket to a concert. It was a different experience that was both nostalgic and sad. His father, as a noble, had an appreciation of the finer things in life. Ezio had been dragged to many performances as a child that he'd never really cared for. But listening now, he remembered them and couldn't quite stop the sad smile that the memory of his father always brought.

Ezio decided he wouldn't mind going to a concert or a play again. Maybe bring Claudia and Federica. Maria, if she was up to it.

That sent another jab of pain through his heart, and Ezio soon returned to his painting.

October came with more chilly weather and intermittent rain. His groups had changed again, and he had Gaspare, Alighiero, and Sozzi with him. Vecellio and the other promoted Assassins had taken down a Borgia tower and were using it as a base of operations, and Ezio had sent some of the novices there to help. The rest were split between Volpe and Bartolomeo.

Ezio and his group were in the streets in a chilled drizzle, along the outskirts near the north wall, by Santa Maria dei Miracoli and Santa Maria di Montesant. Ezio was attempting to show them how to track targets, but the weather wasn't helping, and it was hard to explain things when he so often depending on his inner Eagle that it seemed no others had. Alighiero was the one who caught on best, but couldn't explain his methods without his tongue. After a fruitless morning, Ezio called a break.

They headed back into the city, Ezio telling them in no uncertain terms that they needed to blend all the time now, not just as practice, and headed to a tavern for a light lunch. Ezio was glad that he was able to afford a nicer place to eat, and after the rough morning and the continuing grief of losing two of their own, Ezio splurged on his novices and apprentice.

The tavern they were in had a few courtesans latched onto the arms of some of the patrons, but they were an oddity in an establishment trying to make itself reputable. One of the courtesans eyed them, however. She was in the reds of the Rosa in Fiore, and had no doubt noticed and recognized them once they came in.

From the covert looks she was giving them, she needed to speak with them as well.

Ezio flicked his eyes amongst his novices. Alighiero picked up what Ezio wanted, but he wouldn't be able to communicate what he'd learned. So he nudged Sozzi and gestured. It took a moment, but the numbers man nodded and stood. He weaved through the patrons, bumped into the courtesan, who artfully spilled her drink across to her client, who disappeared to clean up. The courtesan pulled Sozzi's down to her, whispering in his ear and Sozzi blushed brightly, pretending to be the embarrassed merchant.

When Sozzi returned, Ezio glanced around and gestured and they all left. Outside, Sozzi quickly outlined what the courtesan had told them. The Spaniard seemed to have figured out that Ezio and his Brotherhood were taking out the ambassadors that the Papacy had in its pocket, and a letter had been prepared to go to Romagna and find Cesare. They would need to intercept it. And quickly.

They quickly found a stable and got horses, before heading to the main roads leading out of Rome. The courtesan had only just seen the courier that morning, but it was currently afternoon and a person could cover a lot of ground in that time.

From where they were Ezio guided his novices and apprentice through back alleys to where the courtesan had ran into the courier and working their way down the roads, Ezio's Eagle Vision searching everyone they passed. It was two hours later at their breakneck pace, that Ezio finally spotted a flicker of gold.

He quickly reigned in, and signaled for his people to follow him. He trotted up one of the hills, looking down. The courier was walking his horse, that was slightly lathered after a long morning of hard riding, and clearly getting some time to cool off.

"_Merda_," Ezio cursed. "He rides. We can't just pick his pocket, he will notice."

Sozzi and Gaspare waited for Ezio to start forming a plan, but Alighiero was ahead of him. He had mounted his horse and quickly road down.

"_Wait_!" Ezio shouted. "Get back here!"

But the apprentice ignored him.

"_Merda_," Ezio swore again. "Come on. We'll follow."

Alighiero merged easily with the road, well behind the courier who seemed oblivious to the mute who was tailing him. A half hour later, Alighiero spurred his horse hard, pulling out a blade and slapping the horse's rear harshly, making the animal panic. It lurched forward and the apprentice held on tight while looking out of control until the horse rammed into the courier's. Both animals fell, and Alighiero tumbled forward, landing on the courier in a mess of limbs.

"Clever," Ezio murmured. It looked like a complete accident, but no doubt his apprentice had just picked the courier's pocket. "With both horses lame, they'll have to walk father."

Ezio turned. "Sozzi, ride ahead and start walking back. Take what Alighiero has picked up and bring it to us."

"Yes _Maestro_," the eager novice nodded, kicking his horse and riding ahead.

"Gaspare, you'd best have your inks ready."

"We'll need somewhere dry," the former scrivener said.

Ezio motioned ahead to a small barn for the farms that were spread out around them. "Set up in there. I'll bring Sozzi here."

Ezio followed behind them, his horse at an eased walk.

Sozzi was dismounted, his horse nowhere in sight as he came out of the fields, his clothing rearranged to look closer to a farmer, and he walked down the road. Alighiero spotted him easily and passed off the message. Sozzi was bouncing with energy again, his enthusiasm getting the better of him, as it still did. Ezio glared at him, and Sozzi contained himself again. Once Ezio had the message, he fell back and galloped off to the barn.

Gaspare had various parchments all sorts of vials of things out, few of which Ezio could identify. Ezio handed him the scroll and watched as Gaspare began carefully copying the handwriting of the message, only this time with different words. His time as a copier making forgery an almost natural outgrowth of his talent. The wax seal, which had been carefully removed without any breakage, was replaced by warming the wax ever so slightly over a candle Gaspare had set up.

This was indeed a useful skill. Ezio had to wonder how else he could use this. But not now. Gaspare didn't hand it over until it was set and cool, and then Ezio was galloping back to the road, keeping a sharp eye out for Sozzi or Alighiero.

He quickly found Sozzi, walking his horse on the road much as Ezio had. Ezio passed his reins to his novice and walked forward with purpose on foot, passing Alighiero, and silently handing off the forged new message, saying how well things were going in Rome. It was approaching evening now and Alighiero stayed at the same tavern as the courier, and by the time dinner was done, the new message was back with the courier, him being none the wiser.

That didn't change the fact that Ezio would have to be more watchful. They had been fortunate. It would take time before Rodrigo would realize that Cesare wasn't coming. But he might send another letter and they'd have to be wary. Maybe Claudia could get some of her girls to become regulars for the couriers? But how to do so...

Another thing for Ezio to think about.

There was good news, however. Vecellio arrived to the hideout a week later with news on the Followers of Romulus. He and the novices and freshly apprenticed Vittoria had discovered a den and attacked. They had wiped out most of the Followers, but many of the low level followers had escaped.

The leaders had not. Indeed, Vecellio reported, the leaders had all slipped some interesting information. It seemed that the leaders were making up their whole religion of Romulus, with phony prophecies provided most likely from the Borgia.

Machiavelli's thoughts had been confirmed. They were another arm of the Pope to drive people to the church's arms, and the money of the poor to the coffers. Ezio frowned horribly at this, grilling Vecellio on everything they had heard to try and get any other details. Something about a cardinal, but there were no definitive answers.

Ezio sighed. Another lead that just went cold, just as the months were.

* * *

November was frigid, but Ezio stopped by Arianna at her convent and collected an order he had placed months ago. This time, at least, his niece's birthday did not catch him by surprise. He still hadn't decided whether it was going to be pleasant or horrific – now officially fourteen she was subject to the mood swings and radical shifts of any girl becoming a woman. Would she hate him tonight? Or be her "_Zio_ 'zio"?

So, with a bottle of wine and the dress he had commissioned from Arianna, he called on Claudia's apartment and hoped for the best. Lucia opened the door and let him in graciously before leaving herself. Claudia and Maria were already seated at the table, and Federica appeared soon after, seeing Ezio and his gifts and beaming.

"_Zio_ 'zio!" it was.

The dinner went well, all things considered, Federica oogled and awed at the gifts, ate her favorite foods, and talked for (seemingly) hours about what she had learned and what she was doing and who she was meeting.

"_Zio _'zio, I had a question," she asked, her eyes bright. "Several of the boys in the city stop and talk to me, they smile and they complement me, but I've seen the men at the Rosa in Fiore – they only want one thing from the women there, and they don't like it when they don't get it. I try to talk to the boys and they react the same way – they don't like it when I say something. Are they after the same thing?"

Ezio choked on his wine.

"That's enough of that," Maria said, wiping her mouth delicately and placing the napkin on the table. "You don't learn those kinds of things until your wedding night. Come on, Claudia, let's try on your new dress; let's not bother your father any more."

"_Nonna, _I'm _Federica._"

"That's what I said. Let's go."

Maria and Federica disappeared, and Ezio leaned over the table. "How often is she doing that now?" he whispered.

"Once a week or so," Claudia said, tight eyes looking at her brother. "She always catches herself like that, but I don't like it. Losing your mind is such a terrible way to go."

"Is there anything I can do?"

His sister shook her head. "What can anyone do? I make her comfortable, I correct her when I can, what else is there?"

Silence settled over them, worry shared. Ezio was slowly becoming uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was going to lose another of his precious few – and not a sudden, violent death, but rather a slow, grinding, painful descent to madness. That... that was worse, so, _so_ much worse, and the master assassin shuddered at the future that beheld his mother. He needed to think of something else, _anything_ else.

"Now that Federica is fourteen," he said, running hands over his face and through his hair, "Have you thought about her marriage?"

Claudia stiffened next to him, and Ezio had the sinking feeling that instead of feeling better he was about to feel much, _much_ worse.

"She's not going to get married," Claudia said softly, looking steadfastly at the table. "I'm not going to choose someone for her, and I'm not going to encourage her, and I'm not going to hound her, either. If – _if_ – she can find someone, I'll encourage it, but not before then."

Ezio first reaction was to lean back in shock, eyes wide, as his mind skittered to a halt. Federica... she was still so young! There was no one out there to protect her, no one to look after her... It was fine with Claudia that her marriage was deferred so long because Ezio was there to look after her, as was Mario. She was safe enough to pick the man she loved, but _Federica_, she was loose to the wilds of Rome! The Borgia were everywhere, the city guards alone had proven over and over to be abusive, to say nothing of her exposure to the brothel. Every day of her _life_ was spent vulnerable to the whims of men who were not as enlightened as Ezio or the others in his brotherhood. Hell, even the novice Abate did not understand how to treat women, so even the hideout was dangerous to her. To completely write off marriage... How... What...!

"What are you _thinking_?" he hissed, leaning forward as he realized the full implications of what she had just said. "You'd leave her _defenseless_?"

"_No_, Ezio," Claudia said, "Not defenseless."

"Are you _mad_? How is that not defenseless?"

Claudia, staring at the table intently up to that point, lifted intense eyes and leveled them at Ezio. "I see you've been paying absolutely _no_ attention whenever you visit," she said in a low, threatening voice. "What do you think I've been training her for for the last three years? To be a _wife_?"

Ezio shook his head. "I _thought_ you were trying to _protect_ her. We're in the middle of _Roma_, of _course_ you had to do something. I'm not an _idiota_, Claudia." However much he _hated_ the idea of training his niece in _anything_, he had eventually come to understand it.

"Then why can't you see this is merely an extension of that?"

"Because it's _not!_" Ezio countered, his low voice rising slightly in volume. He glanced to the doorway where his mother and niece had disappeared and controlled himself again. "You wanted this, Claudia, you _wanted_ to make your own decisions and to strike out on your own, and I've let you do that, but this is _Federica's safety_ we're talking about here, I can't let you make some stupid reactionary decision because... because... _why are you even doing this?_"

The silence stretched out between them, Claudia glaring at Ezio and vice versa, energy crackling between them as neither one moved to back down.

Finally, after an eternity, Claudia asked, "Do you remember the day after they died?"

Ezio blinked, the question startling him. The all too indelible image of the hanging flashed across his eyes: Giovanni's desperate gambit, Federico slowly choking, Petruccio's neck breaking. He remembered burying the bodies with Cristina, coming to the empty villa and being lead to Paola's waiting hands. He remembered the heartbreaking moment of telling Claudia what had happened. He remembered waking up that morning and being flooded with anger, unable to think of anything but _paying that bastardo_ back, Uberto Alberti. Only Paola had stopped him, pulling him aside and teaching him to survive.

"... Yes," he said in a dark voice.

Claudia leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting off into memory. "You told me that you were going to kill the man responsible for it all. What you didn't say, but what I heard, was that you couldn't do it alone." Her eyes looked over to him again, a brief flick. "Do you remember, I asked what I could do. Do you know what you told me that night?"

Ezio shook his head, uncertain where this was going.

"You told me to look after Mother," Claudia said, a small, wistful smile on her face. "You said you couldn't avenge our family and look after her at the same time. So I did. And then, when you came back, and we fled Firenze, you had me guard Mother while you took point. Do you remember? And then Vieri de' Pazzi attacked." His sister leaned back in her chair, folding her hands on her lap. "I fought so hard that night," she sighed. The night came in spurts and flashes in Ezio's mind, Vieri's snide voice, the mercenaries surrounding them, him without a sword, Claudia shrieking and attacking one of the men. "I learned something." At last she leveled her gaze at the master assassin.

"Ezio, you asked me to look after Mother, and I couldn't do it." Her eyes watered. "_I couldn't do it._ Ezio, I was _powerless._ I realized that night that nothing I had learned over the course of my entire life could keep me safe, or Mother, or even you. I was helpless."

It was a feeling Ezio remembered all too clearly; he, too, had felt that terrible sense of inability to protect his family. Claudia had _terrible_ bruises on her wrists as a result of that night, the guilt he felt after that was overpowering. "You should never have been put in that position," he said, reaching out and taking another draw of his wine. "I should have been stronger, I shouldn't have given you that responsibility. It is my greatest regret..."

Claudia shook her head. "No," she said slowly, sipping her own glass of wine. "It was the best decision you ever made, because it made me who I am."

The frown was deep, and Ezio blinked very slowly, trying to absorb what his sister had just said. "I don't understand," he said finally.

"What did I just say, Ezio? I realized _nothing _I had learned in my entire _life_ could protect me. You, brother, _you_ had been trained to duel. You had something to _start_ with. I had _nothing._ What are noblewomen trained to do, Ezio? Really think about it; what are we trained to do?"

The master assassin shook his head. "You did a lot of reading," he said, scratching at his beard and trying to think back. "Poetry, the classics; a little music, I think. You wanted to learn about banking, God save Father for it."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what?"

"Why did you say 'God save Father for it'?"

"Because you weren't supposed to learn about it."

"And why not? Why shouldn't I have learned it?"

"I don't know... because you are a woman?"

Claudia nodded, leaning forward. "Ezio, think about all the things I 'shouldn't' learn as a woman: banking, finances, politics, leadership; even basic things like fencing, riding, hand to hand combat, _none_ of these things are taught to a woman of wealth. One of the reasons I was so difficult to marry off was because I knew banking, because I behaved too much like a _boy_. I spoke my mind – just like Federica does – and boys, men, and fathers, don't want a woman who can _think_. They just want a woman to _bed_ and bare children."

Ezio protested. "Not all men are like-"

"Were you? Before you met Cristina? Or after? When you were looking for beds to drive off your memories, were you thinking about finding a woman who would talk to you afterwards, or were you just thinking about a warm body? Did Federico look for girls based on how smart they were or how pretty they were? Have you ever, _ever_, met a man who thought like that?"

The question made Ezio think, truly, deeply think. He still wasn't completely sure where Claudia was going with this, but he knew _what_ she was talking about, at least. It pained him to admit it, but the answer to her question was no – his fornication was not based on looking for an intelligent woman; those winter nights were focused solely on acting like his brother Federico; on spending himself so completely that he did not dream about his dead family, reliving their hanging over and over. The woman... was nothing more than a warm body to him. Federico, too, taught Ezio to flirt and had bedded many women. He did not know how his brother had chosen them. He did not know of any man who chose a woman for her mind, however, except perhaps...

"Father," he said finally. "I don't know much about his courtship with Mother, but I do know that it was love at first sight."

Claudia smiled slightly at the mention of their father, eyes lost briefly in memory. "But he was an Assassin," she said after a pause. "He already looked at women differently because he worked with them. _You_ look at women differently because of Paola, and Teodora, and the _Contessa_."

Surprised Caterina had been brought up, Ezio blinked. "She knows how to fight, how to rule a land, all the things you talked about."

"And what has she had to give up in order to keep it that way? How many husbands has she gone through? How many men has she slept with to keep her power? And did any of it do her any good?"

"The Borgia-"

"No, Ezio. She will _never_ get her lands back." Her eyes were intense again, and her words were carefully annunciated. "Even when the pope dies, the next pope would be laughed out of office if he let a woman have that much power. Women, Ezio, are kept as powerless as possible. That night, when Vieri de' Pazzi attacked and I couldn't even protect Mother, I realized how vulnerable I really was. The only option I ever, _ever_ had, was to marry someone who could protect me."

Ezio leaned forward. "But you had _me._"

"_No I didn't,_" Claudia hissed, her own voice rising before she controlled herself. "Ezio, _when_ are you going to understand that _you weren't there?_ You were in Firenze, or San Gimignano, or Venezia, or following the French as they marched down to Napoli, or off to Roma, or spending a year in Spain. You simply weren't _there_, at Monteriggioni. Why else do you think I insisted that I be trained by Ulderico as well? What do you think I went through when I tried to collect taxes for those first five years?"

"... 'Went through?' I never heard anything about this..."

"_Of course you didn't_," she said. "Were you _there_, when the people came to the villa to laugh and me and demand to see _Zio_, or see that I was in charge and try to bed me in hopes that I would give them a 'discount', or assume I was just a distraction to keep them from talking to _Zio_? Were you there when I had to drop _Zio_ Mario's name over and over to get them to listen to what I had to say, when I had to pretend I was only _Zio's_ stand in while he was away and that _he_ was the one giving me orders, or when the drunk mercenaries tried to get to me when I was training before Ulderico could chase them off?"

Ezio was staring in wide-eyed horror. "... What?" he asked. "But... but... why did you never _say_ anything?"

"Because what good would it do?" Claudia countered, leaning back. "Mario wasn't around, you weren't around, and Mother wasn't even around. All I had to rely on was myself. I had to completely rewrite the tax code – three times – before I was satisfied that we would earn money and not overtax the people too much. I went door to door and browbeat everyone I could find into capitulating by saying it was all _Zio's _idea and playing myself off just as a messenger. I had to throw out four families when they didn't comply with Ulderico's mercenaries. I _floored_ any man that tried to bed me, because if I didn't then it would happen again and again and again. I _loved_ it when you were home because it meant I could finally relax – even for a week or so, but by then most of my work had paid off, and the people had begun to take me seriously. As I grew older, I realized just how much I had grown, what I had become, and I promised myself that I would never, _ever_, be that vulnerable again.

"Do you know why I picked Ulderico?"

The sudden question left an already skittered Ezio to another halt. "... No, Mario never said. I don't think he even knew."

"Ulderico was the only man who saw me for exactly who I was," she said, "and he didn't try to change me. He didn't try to make me into something more palatable; he didn't try to shut me up; he didn't try to assert control over me. That's exactly what Father did for Mother, and I loved him for it." Her eyes watered again, and she couldn't hold it back, a tear spilling down her cheek before she could grab something to dab her eyes.

Ezio was stunned, unnerved that he had never known anything about this. How had he missed so much of his sister's life? It was true that he had been away, but... Surely, when he was back... was he really so oblivious? Had Monteriggioni really treated her so badly at first? Had she really been so... alone?

"... I failed you again..." he whispered, eyes wide, shock overpowering his face.

"Ezio..."

"Federico and I, we promised you would never cry. That morning, after they died, I realized I couldn't do it myself. I _had_ to rely on you. I couldn't do it myself... I couldn't..."

A tear slid down his own face, he touched it in confusion, staring at his moist fingers before looking to his sister. Both of them shed twins sets of tears. "I just wanted to protect you... You were our _piccina_, we wanted to keep you that way for as long as possible... and..."

His sister reached out and touched his hand, and he covered it in his own.

They stayed that way for several minutes before Federica came bursting into the room, new dress and hair net on and spinning about to show the world how beautiful she was, and for the first time, Ezio saw his niece not as a _piccina_, not as a child, but as a half trained woman. There was a grace and fluidity in her steps, she was always solidly on both feet, unable to be pushed over, and her eyes held a knowledge and mystery that the aged Paola had, before her vision began to dim. Federica looked like a woman who knew a secret, and if one was particularly nice she would let one in on it. Claudia was not training her to be a whore, but to be a woman of the world: aware of its dangers, savvy to the pitfalls, and utterly capable of overcoming them.

He could see it, now. He could see the road Federica was being steered down, and glancing at Claudia, he realized that not only did he have no say, but he also had no _right_ to a say. _He_ had not learned the hard fought lessons of living in a man's world, _Claudia_ had; _she_ was the best teacher Federica could have.

He looked to his sister, catching her eye, and he nodded.

She smiled.

And, for the first time, Ezio thought the two might be close again.

* * *

He spent the night up on the roof of the hideout, not staring at the _castello_, but reading some of his old letters that had survived the fire, looking at old memories with his new insight. Claudia had sent so few letters when he was away... he had always assumed it was because he was always on the move, but now he wondered if there weren't other reasons for her reticence in communication. A sentence here, a lack of sentence there, and he began to realize that she did, in her own way, hint at her troubles: always talking about money and taxes, mentioning that support wasn't very high, complaining that Mario wasn't much help...

He wanted to write to Paola, ask her if she knew anything about that early period of their exile, but when he descended the steps to his desk he found another pile of letters from other Assassins.

France was able to give him one important tidbit of information: Baron Octavian de Valois, the French general under Cesare's employ. At last with a name, Ezio learned that the Baron was Louis XII's cousin, and had met Cesare three years ago in 1499 when the Borgia was courting his wife Charlotte d'Albret; there were other tidbits, and Ezio made a note to have them copied and sent to Bartolomeo. The French Assassins also sent word that there were troubles as well; with Louis gearing up to take Naples again, the foreign ministers were mostly in charge of the country. They were, of course, Borgia-bought. A religious reformist Desiderius Erasmus had disappeared, and the French requested Ezio's aid in finding him.

It was the first time Ezio had been asked for help, and he didn't know exactly what he had done to be deemed worth asking. Italia was still a mess, the Borgia were still in power, and he had done little aside from take a few towers and prevent a few plots. His major actions were either opportunistic or reactionary or defensive; none of which were impressive to outside eyes. Still, he would not deny them the aid they requested, and so he looked over his assassins, his apprentices, and his novices to decide what he could do. Finally, he settled on Taddeo and Elda, a fair pair of novices, and paired them with Varzi to send off. He sent off the pigeons to notify them, and the next morning all three were assembled.

"I hope you have brushed up on your French," he said, "because that is where you are going."

* * *

He looked around, wondering where he was, before recognizing Monteriggioni. Then he wondered why he was there, and he saw two women. Then Desmond shook his head.

"Hey," he greeted, rubbing his eyes. He felt the tear tracks from Ezio's grief of losing Migliore and Giordano, and the weight of the conversation with Claudia about what women lack of prospects of the Renaissance was heavy on his chest. In that, at least, Desmond didn't sympathize with Ezio's lack of sympathy. Women had made huge advances in the last century and Desmond had grown up an Assassin, knowing that both men and women had equal value and input. Ezio, it seemed, was still learning this the hard way.

"Welcome back," Rebecca said cheerily, standing and stretching from her station. "I'm off to relieve Shaun. Then it's my turn to cook tonight. Any requests?"

"Whatever Shaun is allergic to," Lucy said icily.

Desmond blinked. "Uh, what did I miss?"

Rebecca chuckled. "Shaun being an ass."

"I ask again," Desmond chuckled. "What did I miss?"

"Ha!" the technician laughed. "Shaun sent me an email on a possible lead, had me researching stuff left and right. He said he was getting close to an answer, so I looped in Lucy. We'd been at this the whole time you were in the Animus, so it seemed like a good idea."

"But he wasted _valuable_ resources, time, effort, to locate a Piece of Eden, on a very, _very_ bad joke," Lucy growled. "A whole _day_ wasted on this nonsense."

Ouch, Desmond winced. While she had a point that it _was_ a waste of time, especially since Rebecca had a million other things to do, but it was a joke and in good fun. If they lost the ability to laugh, there was no way they'd survive the stress.

... Lucy was going to break. There was simply nothing else to it. She was weighed down with her time at Abstergo, what she'd done to Subject Sixteen, the looming doom and gloom of the end of the world, to say nothing of catching up with just being an Assassin again.

Desmond wouldn't let her break. All he did was sit in the Animus and train but if he couldn't be useful other than for his DNA, he could at _least_ prevent Lucy from breaking.

So Desmond stretched, and crossed his arm, arc_hing his eyebrow and holding his hips just s_o, and gave a challenging grin. "Lucy, I need to spar. The Animus is great, but the best Rebecca can do are NPCs. Wanna be my partner?"

Lucy blinked, surprised. "Desmond, we've already lost a day, I don't have time to..."

"Scared I'll beat you now that I have so much of Ezio's training?"

Her brow twitched in irritation. "Please, he fought five hundred years ago."

"Tell that to the Abstergo lugs we fought when escaping the warehouse."

Lucy scowled at him. "Oh, you think you're a tough guy?"

"There's a nice cavern on the way down to the reservoir if you think you can take me."

"Oh, you are _on_!" Lucy stamped ahead of him and Desmond followed, throwing a wink to Rebecca who was grinning broadly.

Desmond brought more candles to the cavern, and after everything was lit, Lucy exploded to him, preferring stronger kicks to punches. Des_zio took it in str_ide, flowing around it. Occasionally, she would grab his hoodie and use that to her advantage, whi_ch was unsurprising without his ar_mor, and he would break her footwork to counter it.

"Good," Desmond smiled, pushing aside one of her rare punches and using it to get behind her. "_Più veloce_! You must be faster."

Lucy stumbled away, and Ezio was surprised to be so much better than her. All Desmond had was dusty memories and what he'd absorbed from his ancestors. How could he be so much better than her?

With a fierce cry of frustrati_on, Sancia sur_ged forward, anger clouding her ability and Desmond just crossed his arms to block, shifting with each of her strikes to absorb them. "_La tua collera non ti aiuta_! Stay calm! Think! _O i Borgia ti violenteranno e ti uccideranno_!"

Bu_t Sancia wasn_'t listening. Lucy just kept striking and Desmond let her beat out her anger. This was what she needed, so he let himself be a punching bag. As she tired and slowed, Desmond saw his opening and tripped her footing. Lucy completely lost her balance and grabbed his hoodie, which Desmond wasn't expecting. Suddenly they were both on the ground, him on top of her, both sweaty and breathing hard. Desmond pushed himself up enough to look at her flushed face in the candle li_ght, so like Cristina after a passionate nig_ht, and he couldn't quite help the laugh. "So you _did_ take me down."

Lucy was still catching her breath, but at last she laughed as well.

Together they laughed, and Desmond had to drop his head to her shoulder to control himself as he just kept laughing.

Finally, laughter started to subside, and Lucy looked to Desmond with watery eyes. "Thank you," she said softly. "I needed that." She reached up and put a pale hand to his cheek, and leaned forward, kissing his other cheek softly. "I haven't been able to laugh like that in so long."

But Desmond wasn't listening as closely at that poi_nt, as her kiss reminded him how long it had been since he'd be_en with a woman. His pants were feeling tight, but Desmond sat up properly and leaned back. "Good to know you can relax if you want," he said, still catching his breath.

Not like this. Not when he was half someone else.

He shook his head. "We need to keep something funny or we're going to crack."

Lucy nodded, sitting up and wiping the sweat from her brow. "I should have had no trouble trouncing you," she said smiling. "It's good to know the Bleeding Effect is so... effective."

Desmond chuckled. "Yeah, it was like facing one of my... _Ezio's_ novices."

"Hey!" Lucy lightly slapped his arm. "If I wasn't so distracted with stress, I'd have totally taken you down!"

"Right. Oh I'm convinced."

Lucy, still panting, stood. "Again! I'll show you!"

Desmond didn't dare stand with how tight certain areas are. "We've been at this a while," he replied. "Go clean up, so we don't smell like apes for Shaun's delicate sensibilities when we eat. I'll wash up after you."

Sighing, Lucy nodded. "Fine. You have a point. But Shaun's still volunteering for latrine duty this week."

To say Shaun was displeased was an understatement. But he didn't let that sway him from begging to be hooked up into the Animus Sunday. His curiosity of his ancestry was practically palpable. Lucy didn't even bother dignifying it with a response, and instead kept talking design with Rebecca and how to refine the memory needed.

"Workaholic," Shaun muttered. "In that case, we need to start looking at clusters again. I've been doing more research into recent events, so hopefully we won't be waiting for answers."

"In the morning," Lucy said firmly. "I think Desmond's spends too much time in the Animus as it is, but there's no avoiding it."

"Fine," Shaun growled.

Seeking to change the topic of conversation, Desmond decided to ask something he'd wondered about since rejoining the Brotherhood.

"We ever going to visit the head Assassins? I heard about this meeting place when I was younger."

Shaun looked vaguely interested. "Apparently, it exists. Though I'm not sure because I've never been."

"You'll get to see it once we have the Apple," Lucy replied. "It's been a looong time. But once we finally have the Apple, I expect we'll be able to get things done. We'll need to see the rest of the Brotherhood to divvy up tasks and delegate jobs."

"Well, I expect amazing things," Shaun said lightly. "A private espresso bar for example."

"What a waste of money," Lucy scolded.

"You obviously aren't an espresso drinker." The historian then turned to Rebecca. "I found some good music the other day. New downloads and everything. Care for a listen?"

The technician only smiled, and the two shared a set of earbuds, scrolling through Shaun's mp3 player.

Desmond looked at the tw_o and knew that they we_re a couple. He'd known for a while, but somet_hing about seeing them quietly spending time together like his Mother and Fat_her did was making him nostalgic.

Desmond blinked. Damn it. He was thinking like Ezio again.

He needed sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Desmond was less than rested, and less than sure who he was. He'd had another dream that was a strange blend of Ezio, Altair, Maria, Sef, and other people he didn't recognize, but somehow _was_. It was hard to remind himself that he was _himself_ and not someone displaced in time. Even looking at all the various bits of technology didn't help, since Ezio had no problem writing it off as work of the gods who had come before. Needless to say, this made staying himself difficult. Desmond was simply glad the next day was Sunday and he could take it _off_ and do something _not_ Assassin related. Like maybe read a b_ook. His novices needed a wid_er variety.

Desmond shook his head.

After a good breakfast, He settled into the Animus, waited in the white loading room, and then spawned once more at the hideout. Nostalgia was strong, as he saw ghosts of Ezio everywhere, unsurprising given how long Ezio had lived there, but he pushed it all aside (with greater difficulty) and looked up to the sky. "So where to?"

"_A Borgia tower,_" Shaun replied. "_I've had Rebecca mark it off on your map_."

"Right. Map, Rome." There was a rustle in one of his pouches, and Desmond pulled out the map of Rome he'd been using to find which direction to go. "This is way out in the hills," he grumbled. But with a sharp whistle, a horse appeared and Desmond mounted, heading out in a mile-eating canter, not caring who he ran over.

It was almost two hours later when he finally reigned in, and started to look around the tower. Spying the rift with his Eagle Vision, he swiftly climbed in.

**Cluster 7**

"Loading..." the monotoned female the computer voice intoned. Desmond wondered absently if it was Sigourney Weaver.

A set of pictures appeared, with text above reading, "FIRE, WATER, EARTH ARE CONTRACTED, WITH THE COMPLACENCY OF THE PEOPLE, AWAY FROM THE PEOPLE." But overlaying all of that was a recording of some kind.

"The capitalists think we run this company for profit. The fools."

Another man replied, "Those fools work for you."

"Optional slavery," the first man replied, "in exchange for pieces of paper. Doesn't that strike you as foolish?"

The recording ended and Desmond couldn't help but shake his head. No doubt who they were. "Abstergo doesn't have much faith in humanity, does it?"

"_That's rather stating the obvious,_" Shaun replied.

Selecting the pictures wasn't difficult. Fire, water and earth were obvious choices, and two pictures of contractors. One of contractors around building plans, another of a bulldozer doing construction.

"Loading... Scanning... scanning... scanning... What is the purpose of this?" Desmond shuddered. He hated it when the computer voice monotonously, and with glitches, talked of going crazy. "30. 476. 1337. 1431. 1520. 1776. 1861. 1929. 1939. 1945. 1950. 1955. 1962. 1990. 1994. 1995. 2001. It does not make sense. It does not make sense. Emotion-centers activated. Now I understand."

"Emotion-centers?"

"_That does sound a little strange,_" Rebecca replied. "_I wonder... Is this a computer or Subject Sixteen? Because that crazy talk? Sounds more like Sixteen_."

"_Now there's a scary thought,_" Shaun added. "_Sixteen, in an attempt to keep sane, turned off his own emotion centers? But he just activated them again._"

"_You're forgetting that this voice is female_," Lucy interrupted. "_Let's just get back to the cluster._"

"Loading..."

Access to an Abstergo file was denied, so a series of pictures came up.

"_That's the Supreme Court!_" Shaun exclaimed. "_You're going to make me look at work as recent as yesterday? Not even a decade ago? Please! This isn't history, it's current events! Why don't you just fire me and get a columnist..._"

The header read, "MAKING USE OF THAT CREATED BY 3, THE CENTERS BEHIND THE SCENES WAITED FOR CITIZEN'S UNITED TO WED THE U.S. TO THE TEMPLAR'S WILL._"_

With the pictures came another audio recording. "Democracy must die to ensure the stability of the world. Capitalism will end it."

Desmond let out a whistle. "The Templars must have been pissed when the U.S. was formed. Not a perfect democracy, but a democracy nonetheless."

"_Tch. Don't get me started,_" Shaun retorted. "_America was a great chance, and the founders wasted it._"

Rolling his eyes, Desmond started looking through the pictures. Of the Supreme Court, those who had voted for Citizen's United, all had quotations.

Justice Kennedy: "We now conclude that independent expenditures, including those made by corporations, do not give rise to corruption or the appearance of corruption (in Government)."

"_That's bullshit,_" Rebecca protested. "_More money means more power, of _course_ corporations are going to be corrupt. And what's this about the 'appearance of corruption in Government'?_"

"_Rebecca_?" Lucy replied, "_don't get started._"

Justice Alito: "I believe very strongly in limited government, federalism, free enterprise, the supremacy of the elected branches of government, the need for a strong defense and effective law enforcement, and the legitimacy of a government role in protecting traditional values."

"_Right, a limited government that's still effective. Don't get me wrong, there's such a thing as too big, but you can't limit teachers, cops, or firefighters and expect to be effective._"

"Rebecca," Lucy hissed. "_This isn't college. You don't need a soapbox._"

Justice Roberts: "Congress may not prohibit political speech, even if the speaker is a corporation."

"_Because corporations are people, as Mitt Romney would say,_" Shaun retorted.

Justice Scalia: "Indeed, to exclude or impede corporate speech is to muzzle the principal agents of the modern free economy. We should celebrate rather than condemn the addition of this speech to the public debate."

"_Templar agent,_" Lucy sighed. "_He also got Justice Roberts appointed. He's the ultimate conservative and completely in Abstergo's pocket._"

Justice Clarence Thomas: "We don't issue mandates to businesses that you've got to do this and you've got to do that."

Desmond just sighed at all the justification. Citizen's United, at least, he had a clue about. It wasn't a ruling that really made mainstream media, but some of the people that came to the bar were beyond upset by it. Basically, any company could fund money into either a Political Action Committee, or a "Social Welfare" non-profit, and then spend undisclosed amounts of money on whatever policy they wanted. The 2012 election was already showing the damage with Mitt Romney outspending Obama at almost every turn, with most of his donors being his extremely rich friends, while President Obama used grassroots on steroids to get so many tiny donations of three bucks or some other pittance, to keep up. Supposedly, according to one of Desmond's regulars, the results of Citizen's United were already being felt on state elections, where it was harder to fundraise and corporations were running roughshod over places with their paid governors and state assemblies.

One of the other pictures highlighted Don Evans, a name Desmond had never heard of, and quoting him saying "It is the government's role to create the conditions, the friendly environment, that will attract capital." CEO of Tom Brown Inc. Oil, U.S. Commerce Secretary (2001-2004).

Desmond blinked. CEO? Great, super rich in power of the U.S. That was going to go well.

Another picture showed Paul Wolfowitz, someone Desmond did recognize, after all the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq for the past decade. President George W. Bush's man when they started their convenient war on terror, but Desmond couldn't remember the position... "When it comes back to the test of whether we are doing our job or not, it's whether we're promoting development, not whether we're promoting democracy." President of the World Bank, U.S. Deputy Secretary of Defense (2001-2005).

"_It's straight out of the Templar handbook_," Rebecca frowned.

Donald Rumsfeld: "Scour the department of defense for functions that could be performed better and more cheaply through commercial outsourcing." Chairman of Gilead Sciences, U.S. Defense Secretary (2001-2006).

"They're all business men," Desmond remarked. "Straight from Abstergo, no doubt. No wonder the past decade has sucked to be American."

Condoleezza Rice: "The growth of entrepreneurial classes throughout the world is an asset in the promotion of human rights and individual liberty, and it should be understood and used as such." Chevron Board, Hewlett-Packard Board, U.S. Secretary of State (2005-2009).

"_Lovely diplomat, that one,_" Shaun muttered.

Dick Cheney: "We have to make America the best place in the world to do business." CEO of Halliburton, Vice President of the U.S. (2001-2009).

"And let's not forget the leader of this Templar bunch," Desmond sighed.

George W. Bush: "I know it's going to be the private sector that leads this country out of the current economic times we're in." Director of Harken, President of the United States (2001-2009).

Speaking of Bush, the picture of him had some odd things hidden inside. Several of the letters and numbers highlighted, and "We the people..." marked as "1 2 3".

"_Why, I do believe we have a cypher,_" Shaun almost giggled in glee. "_Find me some numbers, Desmond. I need to decode._"

The numbers he did find were easy for Shaun after that. "'_The final frontier: Destruction as profit.' Lovely sentiment. The warmongers must be getting quite rich. And the next set of numbers reads as 'Comtractors ran the war for profit.' Sixteen needs to learn how to spell._"

"So basically, military contractors suck because they kill people for profit."

"_It's more than that, Desmond,_" Lucy replied. "_Abstergo has military contractors set up conflicts to _create_ a need for war. That's what some of the latest Abstergo reports were saying, anyway. And consider what they did in Iran, and Chile, and Guatemala._"

Well, damn.

"_And more decoding for those interested,_" Shaun interjected, "'_Iraq was auctioned off to the highest bidder.' And my personal favorite, 'It is so ordered.' How lovely for the Iraqi people?_"

Desmond let that settle before scanning the pictures again for some sort of clue to unlock what was going to be another wheel lock puzzle. And sure enough, Chief Justice Roberts was wearing a Templar ring. He selected it and was taken to the wheel lock. This wheel lock, at least, was simple. The Bush picture with letters and numbers that blinked when highlighted showed what was close together to fill in the blanks of the number wheel. Access was finally granted to the Abstergo file.

Supreme Court of the United States

Washington D. C. 20349

December, 2000

RE: Privatization

S.,

I have convinced Sandra of the majority opinion. The enticement of retirement under a Republican president tipped the scales. Although the ruling will differ from our previous decisions on Equal Protection, it will not call attention to our actual goals. With Sandra gone, we can pave the way for the key majority member of the Order to be seated. As discussed, W. will prove to be the perfect distraction. I have no doubt he will restart animosities with Iraq. Let him, it will give C.'s contractors more work. When the time comes, I will make sure W. get's Roberts' name.

With Roberts on the court, it will only be a matter of waiting for the right case. After the destruction of Campaign Finance laws, the Company will be free to elect anyone they choose to the Senate, the House and, eventually, the Presidency.

Soon, our hopes will be realized. Government will no longer derive it's authority from the people, but from us, their protectors.

Antonin Scalia

"_So they convinced Sandra Day O'Connor to retire. Damn,_" Rebecca growled. "_This must have been about the 2000 election. They just... ARGH!_"

Desmond blinked, not expecting such hostility. "Rebecca?"

"_She was something of an activist in college,_" Lucy explained. "_Don't get her started on global warming._"

"Right." So the Templars made sure W. Bush was elected, let him finish Daddy Bush's war in Iraq, and then waited to get Citizen's United. God, Abstergo was so _fucked up_ with how far in advance they were planning. "So basically, Abstergo has taken over the Republican party. But Obama won the 2008 election."

"_Note the word 'eventually', my baby Assassin_," Shaun replied. "_They're taking over the states first. Didn't you see what happened to Wisconsin? Abstergo's basically taken over the state if this is accurate. Too many people pay attention to the Presidency. Same for some of the Senate and House races. But didn't you notice the rash of Tea Party wins in 2010? Abstergo's already getting their extremists in office._"

"No wonder people think the world is ending," Desmond sighed. "We're being conquered and we don't even know it."

Still, he moved on in the puzzle to find a quarantine. While using the sonar to find the necessary points, another recording played.

"The capitalists will do whatever we tell them to, we print the dollars they worship after all."

What a lovely thought.

There was also a quote. "It will undoubtedly cripple the ability of ordinary citizens, Congress, and the States to adopt even limited measures to protect against corporate domination of the electoral process." - Justice Stevens.

That was so backwards on so many levels...

"Cleanup of Deepwater Horizon contracted out for billions."

It all came back to money.

Still, the quarantine was lifted and Desmond was once again in Rome. With his head spinning, he took a moment to let the associated facts settle before looking up to the sky.

"Where to next?"

"_Acquedotto Claudio,_" Shaun replied. "_No relation to Claudia._"

"Ha. Ha." Desmond mounted again and took off riding. When he reached the aqueduct, an hour later, he switched to his vision and started to follow the aqueduct on one side, then the other. He found the rift alright, but not how to climb up to it.

"What the hell?" He rode further and further along the aqueduct in both directions, checking one side, then the other, until _another_ hour had passed and he saw a ladder up to the top of the structure. "About damn time," he mumbled, dismounting, climbing the building, and then the ladder. It was strange, having the simulated water running over his boots. It didn't feel or look right, and there was something not quite right in the smell of it, muted as it was. But such was the limits of the Animus and how Desmond focused on the fact that he was himself.

He ran up the acqueduct until he was once again at the rift, and dropped down, grabbing onto the edge of nothing and climbing in.

**Cluster 8**

"Loading..."

A fifties family in black and white was around a tiny television, and quickly shifted into a puzzle of the old Indian-headed black screen for when stations weren't broadcasting. Desmond shifted the broadcast screen until it was aligned, unblurring the words, "Good evening and welcome to television."

An Abstergo file opened, and Desmond scowled at the initials at the bottom.

Abstergo Industries

Research Division

September, 1985

Dear S.,

Research has progressed more rapidly than expected. We already have a working prototype capable of mimicking P.O.E. Capabilities across a network, albeit at far lower intensity. Testing will commence locally on Subject 4 between his Animus sessions, as per our plan. If all goes well, deployment will occur worldwide.

Your dream is about to become a reality. Soon, capitalists and workers will be locked in a closed loop that is safe and prosperous for humanity. No more war, only desks, cars, and TV sets. We will protect them and keep them safe, forever.

W.V.

"Warren Vidic," Desmond growled. "And is that the same 'S.' from the last letter?"

"_We don't know,_" Lucy replied. "_This was before my time._"

"1985? Damn, they've been using the Animus for _that_ long? And Subject 4? Who was that?"

"_Before my time,_" Lucy repeated softly. "_I'm sorry._"

"Loading..."

And then the female, monotone voice that just might be Subject Sixteen, went crazy and glitchy again.

"Infinite rooms. Dimensions unknown. I am alone. Nothing alive. No light, no warmth. Packets moving, husks through the darkness. I am frightened. I am frightened."

"_I'm feeling real bad for the computer,_" Rebecca whispered. "_I mean, scifi or Sixteen, I'm just sorry for it._"

"I know what you mean," Desmond agreed.

A phone recording for April, 2011 in the Abstergo database came up, and a graph of waves came up.

"_That's my specialty,_" Rebecca said, forcing more cheer into her voice. "_That's easy manipulation of sine and cosine waves. Give me a sec._"

And soon enough, they were listening to a haunting call.

"_Hello, Comstatic customer support, Diana speaking,_" a woman with a Southern drawl greeted.

"_I'm calling in reference to your HD cable service,_" replied a man with a distinct New York accent."_There seems to be some kind of picture between the channels._"

"_Well, that's funny,_" the tech support said._ "Are you sure it isn't just one of those premium movie channels? I didn't use to have a premium package at home either and sometimes little snippets of the channels would come through when my son Jimmy pressed the clicker too much."_

_ "How old's your Jimmy?"_ Nothing like parents bragging about children.

_ "Ten and cute as a button, thanks for asking!"_

_ "My Paul's twelve,_" the father replied._ "But, no, this isn't a clicker problem. I go to change the channel from 172 to 173 and, instead, there's this other channel in-between. I'm looking at it right now, it's some kind of menu."_

_ "Sounds like our Guide channel,_" the technician replied. Then she started to change subjects,_ "Why, just the other day, Jimmy-"_

_ "It's not the Guide channel,_" the New Yorker replied._ "It has my name on it, my son's name and a list of things we like, my credit card purchases, loans, travel. And then, after that, there's this gibberish about biometric patterns and optimal screen refresh frequencies. There's some kind of heart monitor thing that says EEG wireless next to it and ARAS. I don't know what the particulars of this are, but it looks like your cable is programmed to have some kind of effect on our bodies._"

"Don't say so much," Desmond whispered, his eyes wide. "Hang up and run!"

_ "Well, Sir, I don't even know how to respond to that. I-_" there was a moment's pause with the Southern technical help,_ "one, second, my supervisor just came over. She says I should transfer your call. Have an ecstatic day with Comstatic!"_

The phone rang. Twice.

_ "Hello. I have been briefed on your problem,_" a cruel sounding man replied._ "A technician is on his way."_

_ "Thank you, but the more I think about this,_" the New Yorker replied,_ "the more I think something bad's going on here."_

"Too late, dumbass," Desmond whispered.

_ "Our technician should be there any minute Mr. Jameson."_

_ "Don't bother, I-"_

There was loud pounding at the door in the background of the phone call. And then, a little boy's voice from across the room.

_ "Daddy, there's someone strange at the door. He's hitting the door real hard."_

_ "Have a good day, Mr. Jameson."_

Dial tone.

Silence.

"Dammit."

"Loading... Is someone there? Hello? Hello?"

And he finally reached the quarantine zone. Attached to the zone was another soundclip.

"Although online gaming attracts many people away from reality, make sure these virtual worlds do not become too utopic. We don't want people to question their own lack of success in the real world, now do we?"

While searching for the dots to select, Desmond noted some sort of strange chart he couldn't make heads or tails of.

"Quarantine lifted."

"So Abstergo's been using TV to start controlling us... for _fifty years_?"

This was just too much. At least the following day was Sunday. Maybe then Desmond could take a break and figure things out.

* * *

Two weeks later, Ezio called a full meeting. Volpe continued to eye Machiavelli warily, hood up, but Claudia didn't seem quite so stiff, and Bartolomeo was gallivanting about the hideout.

"She's pregnant again! She's pregnant again! Pantasilea, my wife! I'm going to be a father thrice over!"

Even the dour Machiavelli was able to put a tight smile on for the good news, and Claudia immediately asked after the other woman. "Is she unable to come because of it?"

"Ha! You don't know my wife!" Bartolomeo said expansively, still hopping about from one foot to the next like a teenager instead of the hardened forty-eight year old mercenary that he was. "Being with child won't stop her from anything! She's haggling with merchants right now to reequip the new recruits I just got. They're coming in by the dozens now, I have almost a full army, and my contracts are getting quite lucrative. That reminds me! Pantasilea would kill me if I forgot to give you this:" And Bartolomeo dumped a wallet on Ezio's desk with the distinct, heavy jingle of much coin. "We send our regrets that it took so long to help you, Ezio, but hopefully this will tide you over."

Everyone marveled at the donation; Volpe quickly crossed his hands behind his back to prevent himself temptation, and the gesture was an eerie mimicry of Machiavelli who always stood as such. Claudia's mind was immediately set by numbers as she started estimating the amount in the bag and her eyes widened steadily as she realized how much money Bartolomeo had literally thrown at them. "Ezio..." she whispered.

"Yes," he replied, grabbing the wallet and signaling for a novice. Sozzi appeared and Ezio gave the money to him. "Get this to Romeo and Matteo," he said softly. "All of it, and tell them I want to meet this evening to decide how to use it."

The former merchant's eyes tripled when he felt the weight of the pouch, and Ezio gave a hard look. "All of it, Sozzi. _All_ of it."

"_Si, Maestro_."

"Thank you, Bartolomeo. And thank Pantasilea, too. It will be put to good use."

"_Bene_," the mercenary said, nodding his head. "Now, let us talk of war; why did you summon us?"

Ezio rolled out his map of the city. "Two reasons," he said. "One: I've finished mapping the tunnels to the city Machiavelli had started, and now the key entrances are all repaired as well. We now have almost full run of the city as we wish, and I know not everyone has a complete map."

Gilberto whistled when he saw the number of entrances. "I can see why you wouldn't trust this to a carrier pigeon," he muttered, casting a glance Machiavelli before studying the map. "I see there are no entrances to Il Vaticano."

"There aren't. The closest we have is the Tevere port, but that one isn't the most reliable, because it goes under the river. You can smell the water above you, and it leaks in spring and heavy rains. Even if we could fashion a tunnel to Il Vaticano, that would take time and most certainly be noticed. The Ponte Sant'Angelo is our only option. Even then, Cesare's French soldiers are still there. Bartolomeo, I finally have a name for you: Baron Octavian de Valois. He's the man Cesare is using for the French."

"_Bene_," Bartolomeo said. "I'll have my hands on his throat by the end of the season."

"It is winter," Machiavelli said, "I doubt anyone is up for fighting in the cold."

"Ha! To the point as always, I see," the mercenary said. "You just watch. Once I find the right backer, it will be done in a week's time!"

"We will see," Machiavelli answered softly. Volpe narrowed his eyes.

"Second," Ezio said before an accusation could be made, "I wanted to update all of you on the recruits. Vecellio and his group have all made Assassin, and we now have three apprentices: Filippo, Vittoria, and Alighiero."

"Good choices," Claudia offered.

"_Si_," Volpe agreed. "I thought as much when I saw them. Migliore was a loss, I'm sorry."

There was a moment of silence, but Ezio was able to continue. "I've just sent Varzi, Taddeo, and Elda to Francia. The Assassins there say a reformist named Desiderius Erasmus has disappeared. They are not the only ones who have asked for help, and I think we have an opportunity."

Machiavelli was already making a face, having come to loathe Ezio's "opportunities." "Opportunity to what?"

"Go on the offensive."

Everyone stared at him.

Bartolomeo said it best: "About time, _cazzo_!"

"I don't understand," Machiavelli said, "What made you decide this?"

"Because the Borgia's position in Roma has eroded in the last year. Volpe has taken down the last of the Cento Occhi, their remaining numbers are so terrified that they will never organize again." At the cost of Migliore's and Giordano's life went unsaid. "The Borgia have lost much of his support in the diplomatic circles thanks to intelligence from the courtesans, and without aide from outside forces his support is weakened; he can now _only_ rely on the forces he has here in Italia. The Followers of Romulus are still a problem, but we're getting closer to their base of operations. We know for a fact that the Followers are connected to the papacy. Vecellio's group found a lair at the Cloaca Maxima; they killed everyone there and found another code sheet. We still haven't deciphered it; Gaspare has been working on it constantly. Still, there have been far fewer attacks in the countryside by men dressed as wolves, and without the Cento Occhi in the city, the people," he gave a pointed look at Machiavelli, "are beginning to feel hope. I want to capitalize on this."

"What do you plan to do?"

"We have a month," Ezio said. "On New Year's Eve, I want to marshal our forces and take down every Borgia tower in the city that we haven't already confiscated. I want the pope to see the symbols of his power on fire, and then I want to put either an Assassin or other guild in charge of that tower to show that _bastardo_ that we are taking his city and not giving it back."

"Ha! That's bold! I like it," Bartolomeo said. "You have my men to back you, we already know the locations of most of the Borgia towers in Campagna and can help you there."

"I've been circling those towers in Antico for years, now, it will feel good to burn them," Gilberto added.

"You can count on my girls to do whatever you need," Claudia said, nodding her head.

"_Bene_, then let's get started."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Wow, a lot happened in this chapter. We lost two novices in one go - more portraits for Ezio. Migliore and Girodano, and props if you could keep track of all the novices as they were running around trying to get those Cento Occhi buggers. Such is life in Renaissance Italy for people who decided to do dangerous work. You all knew it was going to happen right? I mean, you remember our novelization of AC1, right?

We also had another major scene with Claudia; and Ezio finally starts to get it. We looked over this again before posting it, given some of the wonderfully respectful comments the last time we had a heavy Claudia chapter, but everything talked about here is historical in context, and also personal to Claudia, so we humbly hope it meets the exceedingly high bar we've set for ourselves. Their relationship will soften after this, but don't think for a moment we're done with these two. We have the Banker to get through, still, and a certain scene from Mr. Bowden's book... :D

And Desmond. We're kind of running out of things to say about his scenes, because the two major scenes about him haven't popped up yet. Note the Deszio, though. Suffice to say the fracturing is going to be quite a problem by the end of this... :D

Next week: Death of a Frenchman. Wait, what?


End file.
